Rural hours

=¢|
j

72
ear iti

roe:
ist
POky hei @

ASA LSS

Daa BTU Bons

i eb Oley
rr fads
tty

<f

(ve
ws

hi Re

it

«

he

1A4

oe

= = SS SSS SS

SSS ae

Smithsonian Institution
Libraries

GIFT OF

Marcia Brady Tucker

JONATHAN: DWIGHT Jr

a a Oe
3 Loajg Sages PS an +

| AG >
to her Goust™ Be i i
: J ee aa) ; Saas :

— er 2
: —=

A
gy 4

3

.

1 ae",
hg ie i

S)

ee , :
i ta ere
ie: Stas i’
Rh Fons Ce
: Sate

eel 4 -

Ne : i . le
bas ra fc Ry

2 PGT SGIOTCIOUT
PT é FIOTCOUF

Red-

throated Hummin

“

ING 1B, “NAC CTO at

g Bird

ae, i

Qn
|

a. by f

6 |

(

ry
}

{

RURAL HOURS,

BY

“
lE a Ley tn | Pan 7) be

“ And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves; or hills, or field.

Or woods, and steepy mountains yield.’’

MarLow.

Ti Ay ky WU tSS ES ASAD! ted) ID) ast AD) Ie AW! It O) ANY

INGE oar OR iy Ke:
GHEORGHE P. PUTNAMs 155,BR0 A DIWAY .

MAD CiCLC't Ih

| Bo

i

ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by
J. FENIMORE COOPER,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, for the
Northern District of New York

a ie

EDWARD O. JENKINS, PRINT. AND STER.,
114 Nassau street, New York.

Porn kee

ay

eet. URE :
Pamee Oe
Mtge ah 2

aie. Pa

THE AUTHOR OF “THE DEERRSLAYER,”

TE Sh NODES ARE

VERY RESPECTFULLY, GRATEFULLY,

AND MOST AFFECTIONATELY

INSCRIBED,

AD Vet 1; AQF Les J A018; Tes.

og

na ae

,
‘

:

‘
a

t 1 ; +h nah r \ ¥ 7 er . ‘ a / wy
( ; “a . : ; { ; fs ; tof oe
‘ , ; meet : ‘
. y : ,
i oe : ; ee ' 2 esa Oh
‘ i far oc { aa din’ hy ¥ :
i my a 1 ° * i.
ry ; F ' , : ' Ci
- ow - a - b * : +4 ¥ i ss f t
‘ ie ; =i . ~ a ry Toh a
' ' i hy a ‘
b : 7 ; or . i hy
Sa « 4 ; y ; : oe i f iPS : 1
af y 7 J r
or i i j | : , NP
; 7 ; i A
eee’ i a ; a eet ie
- , =< i ‘ > hing si fs : 7 y 7.
i ‘ ‘ "it uy ) ves 4 c LY,
t F % F 1 4 i te
1 4 t c, es . i iv
F : i i a ‘ : 53 ’ : : a i is
3 ul G ' ll 4 7 ‘ | en VAL |
i Pal s yy ey r i : :
' i et \ 1
—" f ‘ ' H :
i fi ‘
¥ u ‘ i
i, P 4 j a! a : ; hy f i‘ 8 ,
1 * 4 . r : a
: a 3 ,
{ H . % .
¥ .
y 7 , uy { \ . , 1 .
ot 5 a. Leute) pict teas tak ;
7 i . ie ‘ ae '
ae i a oe : f Ry y
i * \ N
| 4! . ‘ I t 5 ’
¢ + f 9 : i
* b in '
’ ag 5 b 4 1 ai
z i
f H i ae a i
4 ; 7 : ‘ i ,
1 4 i x
i i . 1 ve u hee .
‘ i , ‘
R 4 ! = : :
“ r J 5 fis A 1 ’
h han ; i.
P] 4 P F ~ ‘ at
- i U
, J ; ' yi i
, y J
ri ‘ y ‘
; " j i r 2 i d
ve 1 4 fof
oe 2° ae f
7 ; é ’ Aud
a q a4
, i : iJ f f f
4 4 ue i
- ‘ , H 2 Oe Ag
/ _ f , N Me
t wy ‘ i
, i ir a
i alt; al
& . as oe
4, *
} ; f iY Sy
. i u >)
} { . 4 ;
‘ ' . ¢ :
: ; i re ” i ! j
an, , ‘ ‘> ™y :
* th ee, ah}
4 *

Me erode eal ay rivet Aire spi feptieca?

ee ee edi Res hotelier oe Barwa edn teem ren dw ad de os
'

t

a “
us
:
yy
4 ‘ * ay
: J v oft
= | lal > ee yo

PREFACE,

Tue following notes contain, in a journal form, the sim-
ple record of those little events which make up the course
of the seasons in rural life, and were commenced two years
since, in the spring of 1848, for the writer’s amusement.
In wandering about the fields, during a long, unbroken
residence in the country, one naturally gleans many tri-
fling observations on rustic matters, which are afterward
remembered with pleasure by the fire-side, and gladly
shared, perhaps, with one’s friends. The following pages,
therefore, are offered to the reader more from the interest
of the subject, than from any merit of their own. They
make no claim whatever to scientific knowledge, but it is
hoped that they will be found free from great inaccura-
cies; and we may add, that they were written at least
in perfect good faith, all the trifling incidents alluded to
having occurred as they are recorded.

Should the volume give pleasure to any who, like the
1%

vi PREFACE.

honored Hooker, love the country, “‘ where we may see
God’s blessings spring out of the earth,’? some little re-
luctance with which it has been printed will be more

than repaid to the writer.

Marog, 1850.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

THE GOLDEN ORIOLE, : : 6 : FRONTISPIECE
RED-THROATED HUMMING-BIRD, : : VIGNETTE.

BLUE-BIRD, : : : . : : PAGE 20
PURPLE MARTIN, : : : . : : 60
CRESTED PURPLE FINCH, : : : : : 69
RED POLL WARBLER, : : : : 70
WHIP-POOR-WILL, . : . ° : 6 6 115
MEADOW LARK, . : : . : 5 : 219
BOBOLINK, : : . : : : : 234
CHIMNEY SWALLOW, . : : : : : 270
RED-HEADED WOODPECKER, : . S ° : 301
WOOD DUCK, . 3 : : : 6 : ; 308
BLUE JAY, : . 6 : 4 : : 3 310
RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET, . : . : 2 375
YELLOW-BILLED CUCKOO, : : : ; : 408
BALD EAGLE, : : . : 6 : ; 124
BECK’S-BIDENS, ‘ : . : : : : 169
LOBELIA, 5 : : ; : 6 223
CLIMBING FERN, 6 6 . . A : : 267
WILLOW-LEAVED GOLDEN ROD, . : 6 : 282

SIDE-SADDLE FLOWER, . : . : ; 368

mA
‘1
My
H
Py
ews
d 4
n
2s
t
1
)
a
Whe
rl

a anaes sherteey

Poe

Syreeromat
“
7

cmaaess
‘

eS

) -
} i we Hepes ie ‘i ,
py . ci iy
' {
ks : -
> -
" + {
e Bi ear
is ‘ . wy
6. '
ia ' ’ : .
% a rr
f ‘ [ Al a i
& ‘ y ‘ :
j P 4 , ae Te 44 tary Deas Ane pl
- P F J ea
x at ‘ t ‘ tar ay 6 ae er) eo | rg
i < , vt Oe eS . TO oe Ne 8 el sbon'x Oba Bibesehitte
‘ i ti i a9, oh! a, . m wad 7

A

cee
7
ry

a
Batter i
hts enews

, ‘ Baaue
j ) Tes 4 Cun Mars 8 i

“ 7)

f 1) Mi nC mmenerer emma) et oye Pam ON Lee a, 7
1 ’ : re i

of y . 7 4) . 1%
ita ees te ‘ hat Ae Pe
be ¥i,¢ hes eI ai he ; uy e ‘ip been ]

' . i “0

5 ’ Ir

(Ls

RURAL HOURS.

SPRING.

Saturday, March 4th.—Everything about us looks thoroughly
wintry still, and fresh snow lies on the ground to the depth of a
foot. One quite enjoys the sleighing, however, as there was very
little last month. Drove several miles down the valley this morn-
ing inthe teeth of a sharp wind, and flurries of snow, but after
facing the cold bravely, one brings home a sort of virtuous glow
which is not to be picked up by cowering over the fireside ; it is
with this as with more important matters, the effort brings its own
reward. ,

Tuesday, Tth.—Milder ; thawing. Walking near the river this
afternoon, we saw a party of wild ducks flyimg northward; some
few of these birds remain here all winter, but they are seldom
observed except by the sportsman; these were the first we had
seen for several months. In the spring and autumn, when so
many of the different varieties are passing to and fro, they are
common enough. ‘Three large waterfowl also passed along in the
same direction ; we believed them to be loons; they were in sight
only for a moment, owing to the trees above us, but we heard a

loud howling cry as they flew past like that of those birds. It is

|*

10 RURAL HOURS.

early for loons, however, and we may have been deceived. They
usually appear about the first of April, remaining with us through
the summer and autumn, until late in December, when they go to
the sea-shore ; many winter about Long Island, many more in the
Chesapeake. Not long since we saw one of these birds of un-
usual size, weighing nineteen pounds ; it had been caught in Seneca
Lake on the hook of what fishermen call a set-line, dropped to the
‘depth of ninety-five feet, the bird having dived that distance to
reach the bait. Several others have been caught in the same man-
ner in Seneca Lake upon lines sunk from eighty to one hundred feet.
It may be doubted if any other feathered thing goes so far beneath
the water. There is however another, and a much smaller bird,
the Dipper, or ousel, which is still more at home in the water
than the loon, and that without being web-footed, but it is prob-
ably less of a diver. The Dipper must indeed be a very singu-
lar bird; instead of swimming on the surface of the water like
ducks and geese, or beneath like the loons, or wading along the
shores like many of the long-legged coast tribes, it actually runs
or flies about at will over gravelly beds of mountain streams. Mr.
Charles Buonaparte mentions having frequently watched them
among the brooks of the Alps and Apennines, where ‘they are
found singly, or in pairs, haunting torrents and cataracts with
perfect impunity, or running hither and thither along the stony
bottom of more quiet streams. They cannot swim, however ; and
they drop suddenly into the water from above, or at times they
walk leisurely in from the bank, flying as it were beneath the sur-
face, moving with distended wings. Their nests are said to be »
usually built on some point projecting over a mountain stream,

either in a tree, or upon a rock; and the young, when alarmed,

THE DIPPER AND THE BLUEJAY. nal

instantly drop into the water below, for safety. They are not
common birds even in their native haunts, but wild and solitary
creatures, smaller than our robin, and of a dark, grave plumage.
Until lately the Dipper was supposed to be unknown on this con-
tinent, but more recently it has been discovered at several differ-
ent points in our part of the world, frequenting, as in Europe, wild
lakes and rocky streams of limpid water. The American bird
differs slightly in some of its markings, from those of the Eastern
continent.

Wednesday, 8th.—Very pleasant day; quite spring-like. ‘The
snow is melting fast. Spring in the air, in the light, and in the
sky, although the earth is yet unconscious of its approach. We
have weather as mild as this in December, but there is something
in the fulness and softness of the light beaming in the sky this
morning which tells of spring,—the early dawn before the sum-
mer day. A little downy woodpecker and a bluejay were running
about the apple-trees hunting for insects ; we watched them awhile
with interest, for few birds are seen here during the winter. It is
true neither the downy woodpecker nor the jay leaves this part of
the country ; both remain here during the cold weather, but they
are inactive, seldom roving abroad.

Thursday, 9th.—Winter again; the woods are powdered with
snow this morning, and every twig is cased in glittering frost-
work. The pines inthe churchyard are very beautiful—hung with
heavy wreaths of snow; but it is thawing fast, and before night
they will be quite green again. This effect of the snow lodging
on the trees is much less. frequent than one might suppose in our
highland climate; it is seldom found to last more than a few

hours at a time, soon vanishing before wind or sunshine ; indeed

eee

19 RURAL HOURS.

it scarcely occurs half a dozen times in the course of a winter: and
it is the same with the hoar-frost on the branches, which is by no
means so common a spectacle as a Cockney might fancy. ‘This
morning both these specimens of winter’s handiwork are united,
and the effect is very fine, though it looks as if sprmg might yet
be a hundred years off.

Friday, 10th—A bunch of ten partridges brought to the
house ; they are occasionally offered singly, or a brace or two at
a time, but ten are a much larger number than are often seen
together. Last autumn we frequently came upon these birds in
the woods—they were probably more numerous than usual. Sev-
eral times they even found their way down into the village, which
we have never known them to do before; once they were sur-
prised in the churchyard, and twice they were found feeding
among the refuse of our own garden.

When this valley was first peopled by the whites, quails were
also found here in abundance, among the common game-birds of the:
region, but they have now abandoned us entirely ; one never hears
of them, and it is said that they soon disappeared after the coun-
try had been cleared. This is not according to their usual habits,
for generally they are found to prefer the farm lands to the forest,
feeding on different kinds of grain, building about fences, and
rarely resorting to the woods. In some of the oldest parts of the
country they are quite common, and so familiar, that in winter
they will occasionally mingle with the poultry in the barn-yard.
Instead of fearmg the advance of civilization, they would delight
in it, were it not for the sportsman’s gun. It is true that in this
county we approach the northern limits of the quail, for they are

found from Iienduras to Massachusetts only; our Partridge or

RURAL WALKS.—COLD WEATHER. 13

Pheasant, or Ruffed Grouse, as we should rather call it, is a more
hardy bird, partial to mountains and wooded countries, and found
as far north as Hudson’s Bay.

Saturday, 11th.—Very pleasant. Walking on the skirts of the

village this afternoon, we came to a fence blown down by some _

winter storm, and stepping over it strolled about the fields awhile,
the first time we had walked off the beaten track since November.
We were obliged to cross several snow banks, but had the pleas-
ure at least of treading the brown earth again, and remembering
that in a few short weeks the sward will be fresh and green once
more. <A disappomtment awaited us—several noble pines, old
friends and favorites, had been felled unknown to us during the
winter; unsightly stumps and piles of chips were all that re-
mained where those fine trees had so long waved their evergreen
arms. Their fall seemed to have quite changed the character of
the neighboring fields ; for it often lies within the power of a sin-
gle group of trees to alter the whole aspect of acres of surround-
ing: lands.

Wednesday, 15th.—Unusually cold for the season, the ther-
mometer having fallen last night to six below zero. Half-cloudy
day ; wind from the north.

Thursday, 16th.—The cold still continues; ten degrees below
zero lastnight! This would be thought very severe at midwinter.

Friday, 17th.—Severely cold night, thermometer seven below
zero. Happily, it is now growing milder; the mercury above zero
this evening.

Saturday, 18th.—Spring weather again, quite pleasant to-day.
Thermometer forty-six, the mercury having risen some forty de-

grees within the last eighteen hours.

ieeeee SS

14 RURAL HOURS.

Long walk of several miles on the lake. We fancied the waters
impatient to be free: there was a constant succession of dull,
rumbling, and groaning sounds beneath our feet, as we passed
over the ice, so much so as to disturb our four-footed companion
not a little. Dogs are often uneasy on the ice, especially when they
first set out; they do not like the noise from below; but there
was no danger whatever this morning. The crust is still eight or
ten inches thick, and must have been much strengthened by the
last severe weather. A number of sleighs and cutters were glid-
ing about, several of the last driven by children, and well loaded
with little people making the most of the last snow.

It was thawing in the village, and the streets were muddy ; but
on the lake the snow scarcely yielded at all, the ice making a
climate of its own. We enjoyed the walk very much ; it is par-
ticularly pleasant to wander about at will over so broad a field,
confined to no track, and without an obstacle to arrest one’s pro-
gress, all which gives a freedom to these walks upon the lake, be-
yond what we are accustomed to on terra firma, where roads, and
fences, and bridges must be consulted at every turn.

Monday, 20th.—Passing beneath some maples this afternoon,
we observed several with small icicles hanging from their lower
branches, although there was neither ice nor snow on the adjoin-
ing trees; we broke one off, and it proved to be congealed sap,
which had exuded from the branch and frozen there during the
night——natural sugar candy, as it were, growing on the tree.
These little icicles were quite transparent and sweetish, like eau
sucree. At this season, the sap very frequently moistens the
trunk and limbs of sugar maples very plentifully, in spots where

there is some crevice through which it makes its way ; one often

SUGAR MAPLES.—ROBINS. 15

sees it dropping from the branches, and probably the Indians first
discovered its sweetness from this habit. One would think that
the loss of so much sap would necessarily injure the trees ; but it
is not so; they remain perfectly healthy, after yielding every
spring, gallons of the fluid.

Wednesday, 22d.—A thunder-shower last night, by way of
keeping the equinox, and this morning, to the joy of the whole
community, the arrival of the robins is proclaimed. It is one of
the great events of the year for us, is the return of the robins ,
we have been on the watch for them these ten days, as they gen-
erally come between the fifteenth and twenty-first of the month,
and now most persons you meet, old and young, great and small,
have something to say about them. No sooner is one of these
first-comers seen by some member of a family, than the fact is
proclaimed through the house; children run in to tell their pa-
rents, “The robins have come!” Grandfathers and grandmoth-
ers put on their spectacles and step to the windows to look at the
robins ; and you hear neighbors gravely mquirmg of each other :
“ Have you seen the robins ?”—* Have you heard the robins?”
There is no other bird whose return is so generally noticed, and
for several days their movements are watched with no little inter-
est, as they run about the ground, or perch on the leafless trees.
It was last night just as the shutters were closed that they were
heard about the doors, and we ran out to listen to their first greet-
ing, but it was too dark to see them. This morning, however,
they were found in their native apple-trees, and a hearty welcome
we gave the honest creatures. ;

Thursday, 23d.—The snow is going at last; the country has

the dappled look belonging ‘properly to March in this part of the

16 RURAL HOURS.

world; broad openings of brown earth are seen everywhere, in
the fields and on the hill-sides. The roads are deep with mud;
the stage-coaches are ten and eleven hours coming the twenty-
two miles over the hills, from the railroad north of us.

The Phoebe birds have arrived as well as the robs. In many
parts of the country, their return is looked upon as the signal for
beginning to make garden, but that would not do here; there is
too much frost in the ground for the spade. They are making
hot-beds, however, in spite of the snow banks still lymg in many
gardens ; early lettuce and radishes are raised im this way, and
both melons and tomatoes require to be helped forward by the
same process to ripen their fruits thoroughly in this highland re-
gion. ‘There is a sort of tradition in the village, that the climate
has undergone a degree of change since the arrival of the first
colonists; the springs are said to have become more uncertain,
and the summers less warm ; so say elderly people who knew the
place forty years since. The same remark is frequently heard,
also, in settlements of about the same date as this, on the St. Law-
rence, and the Genesee. But there may be some self-deception
in the case, for we are naturally more apt to feel the frost of to-
day, than that of last year, and memory may very possibly have
softened the climate to those who look back from age to youth,
There seems, however, some positive foundation for the assertion,
since it is a fact well known, that fruits which succeeded here for-
merly, are now seldom ripened. Water-melons were raised here
without hot-beds forty years since, and a thriving little vineyard
existed on the’same spot where the grapes have been cut. off by
frost every season for the last ten years.

friday, 24th.—The first plant that shows the influence of the

EARLY PLANTS.—HIGH WINDS. 17

changing season in this part of the country, is very little like the
delicate snow-drop, or the fragrant violet of other lands. Long
before the earliest trees are in bud, or the grass shows the faintest
tinge of green, the dark spathe of the skunk-cabbage makes its
way in the midst of snow and ice. It is singular that at a mo-
ment when the soil generally is frost-bound, any plant should find
out that spring is at hand; but toward the close of F ebruary, or
beginning of March, the skunk-cabbage makes a good guess at
the time of the year, and comes up in marshy spots, on the banks
of ponds and streams. With us it is almost a winter plant. The
dark spathe or sheath is quite handsome, variegated, when young,
with purple, light green, and yellow ; within it grows the spadix,
not unlike a miniature pme-apple in shape and color, and covered
with little protuberances, from each of which opens a purple flower.
Although a very common plant, many persons familiar with its
broad glossy leaves in summer, have never seen the flower, and
have no idea how early it blossoms. Its strong, offensive odor is
better known; an American botanist has observed, that “it is ex-
ceedingly meritorious of the name it bears ;” but this seems too
severe, since a harsher thing could not well be said of a plant. In
the neighborhood of the village, it has been up these three weeks,
but the flowers open slowly.

Saturday, 25th.—High wind from the south this evening ; our
highest winds are generally from the southward. The withered
leaves of last autumn are whirling, and flying over the blighted
grass of the lawns, and about the roots of the naked trees—a
dance of death, as it were, in honor of winter as he passes away.

Monday, 27th—A. flock of wild pigeons wheeling beautifully
over the mountain this afternoon. We have had but few this

18 | RURAL HOURS.
spring; there is a great difference in the numbers which visit us
from year to year; some seasons they are still very numerous,
large flocks passing over the valley morning and evening as they
go out from their general breeding-place in quest of food. Some
few years ago they selected a wood on a hill, about twenty miles
from us, for their spring encampment, making as usual great
havoc among the trees and bushes about them; at that time they
passed over the valley in its length, large unbroken flocks several
miles in extent succeeding each other. There have not been so
many here since that season. But the numbers we saw then
were nothing to the throngs that visited the valley annually in its
earliest history, actually darkening the air as they swept along.
It seems their nature to fly rather low, but they have grown
more wily now, and often take a high flight ; frequently, however,
they just graze the hill-tops, and the sportsmen, after observing
their usual course of flight morning and evening, go out and
station themselves on some hill, shooting the birds as they pass over
their heads. ‘The young, or squabs, as they are called, are in
great request as a delicacy in spring; they are very tender, of
course, and generally very plump, for the little creatures begin to
fatten the moment they break through the shell, and are soon in
good order. They are not thought very healthy food, however,
when eaten repeatedly in guccession. There is a tradition that the
Indians, at the time of the year when they lived chiefly on these
birds, were not in a healthy condition.

Tuesday, 28th.—The great final spring thaw going on. Our
winter deluge of snow is sinking into the earth, softening her
bosom for the labors of the husbandman, or running off into the

swollen streams, toward the sea. Cloudy sky with mist on the

FINE WEATHER.—THE LAKE. 19

hills, in which the pines look nobly; the older trees especially,
half revealed, half shrouded, seem giant phantoms, standing about
the hill-sides. The simple note of the robin is heard through the
gloom—a cheering sound in these dull hours ; perched on the top-
most boughs of the trees, they are taking an observation, looking
out for a convenient building notch.

Wednesday, 29th.—Lovely day; soft clear sunshine, and de-
lightful air from the west playing in the leafless branches, and
among the green threads of the pine foliage. It is not surprising
that the pines, when they

‘* Wake up into song,
Shaking their choral locks,”
should make more melody than other trees; the long slender
leaves are quivering in the breeze this afternoon like the strings
of an instrument, but they are so minute that at a little distance
we only remark the general movement of the tufted branches.

The whole country is brown again, save here and there a nar-
row line of snow under some fence on the hills, or a patch mark-
ing a drift which all the storms of winter have helped to pile up.

Nothing can look more dismal than the lake just now; its sur-
face is neither snow, ice, nor water, but a dull crust which gives
it a sullen expression quite out of character with the landscape
generally, such a day as this; the sun is warming the brown hills,
the old pmes, and hemlocks with a spring glow after their long
chill, but not a smile can be drawn from the lake which grows
more dark and gloomy every hour. As if to show us what we
lose, there is just one corner open near the outlet, and it is beau-
tiful in blended shades of coloring, Tose and blue, clear and soft,
as the eye of Spring.

90 RURAL HOURS.

Our little river runs full and swift, spread over the banks to
nearly twice its usual width; the water is a fine light green,
quite different from its darker summer tint of transparent gray.
It is singular that snow and ice in large quantities should always
change the color of a stream which they have helped to fill;
but so it is: all the waters which flow from the glaciers in Swit-
zerland have a peculiar tint. With us, this effect is seen for a
few days only, when the ice first breaks up in spring. Saw a cat-
erpillar this afternoon, the first that has crossed our path.

Thursday, 30th.—The song-sparrows and bluebirds are here,
and have been with us several days. The robins are getting
quite numerous; they seem to come in detachments, or possibly
they only pass from one neighborhood to another in flocks. Their
note is very pleasant, and after the silent winter, falls with double
sweetness on the ear. Their portly persons and warm red jackets
make them very conspicuous flying about among the naked branch-
es, or running over the wilted grass. ‘They are more frequent-
ly seen on the ground than any other bird we have, excepting the
sparrow, and it is amusing to watch the different gait of the two.
The sparrow glides along with great agility and ease; whether n
the grass or on the gravel, his movement is light and free: but
robin usually makes more fuss ; he runs by starts, drops his head,
raises his tail, moves rapidly for a few feet, and then stops sud-
denly, repeating the same course of manceuvres until he takes
flight. The European robin is a smaller bird than ours, and lives
through the year as far north as England, cheering his native
fields with a simple lay even during the cold weather: his habits
are different from those of our own bird; he builds in grassy

banks, and has a trick of scraping dead leaves together before

ope oe

- - oy : oe iy, A M al
Se i ae tb yy r ; Ti sg mt ee
r A if ee Cardy,
5 vi oe fete a - 1) Se
i om a Ae. fovas bol Ae 2 re en ide
agit ey,
Pp 4 oe Nats sar
f di\' AQRI S reb
Swit A Toul
} ue
~ Ss
on A
=, i
" ‘
; *
it
m1
7 4
1
r slp Fi i
0 A
' i
; yo
y he aan)
i
4 t ’
é \ ae
, ‘i ye
. mi
i fe
1
ry Vy
‘ “i
ii
wh ee ee)
“4 rt . .
Site iw 1
% ; 7
a ane ;
* t se i
q 4
fi © 1) TY
i ts i ar y) / p
1 47 ri tie uM 4
0 iy
: lo
1 s 1 '
i i
‘ i i
x
U if
i
‘eee Sere a i oh bh Goma? De
;
i {
i
: i
Wire Me
via

THE ROBIN. 21

his door, probably with the idea of concealing his nest. With us,
robin never builds on the ground; his nest is placed in trees,
where, from its size, 1t is very conspicuous; once in awhile, how-
ever, he builds about a house, but in such a case usually places
his nest in some spot shaded by a vine or the branches of a tree.
For two summers in succession, we had a nest on a window sill of
the second story, and this spring two pairs seem to be building
about the eaves ;.but in all these instances, the spots chosen are
screened by Virginia creepers. Then again with us, robin is only
musical early in spring ; the rest of the year he is a very silent
bird. Some few occasionally linger through the cold weather as
far north as the Mohawk, but this seems accidental ; many take a
south-eastern direction toward the sea-shore, and many more go
still farther south to a milder climate. They are with us, how-
ever, eight or nine months of the year—honest, homely creatures,
running about the grass-plots and paths around our doors, so that
they are everywhere considered as friends of the house. I have
seen it asserted that the early colonists gave to the gaudy oriole the
jrame of “ English robin,’ showing how fondly memory colored all

they had left behind, since one bird is very plain in his plumage,

the other remarkably brilliant. The name of robin, however, has
now attached itself decidedly to the large red-breasted thrush,
with which we are all familiar ; and although differing in many re-
spects from the Robin Redbreast of Europe, yet with the name
he also inherits the favor of his kinsman, getting all the credit in
this part of the world of watching over the Babes in the Woods,
picking berries to feed them, and gathering leaves for their cover-
ing. This afternoon, as we saw the robins running over the graves

in the churchyard, or perched on a tombstone looking at us with

99 RURAL HOURS.

those large thoughtful eyes of theirs, we came to the conclusion
that our own Redbreast must be quite as capable of a good deed,
as his European brother. At this season, we seldom pass the
churchyard without finding robins there—they probably have
many nests among the trees.

Friday, 31st.—The garden hyacinths, and daffodils, and com-
mon lilies are beginning to show their leaves in the flower-borders,
and the periwinkle is almost in blossom: this is one of the very
earliest flowers to open with us. The blue hyacinths soon follow,
though they will scarcely bloom yet this fortnight. The snow-
drop seldom opens here before the middle or third week of
April, remaining in flower until the tulips fade, early in June; it
would seem less hardy with us than in its native climate, for in
England it blooms in February, and it has been found by M. de
Candolle on the mountains of Switzerland with its flowers actually
encased in snow and ice.

One hears a great deal about the sudden outburst of spring in
America, but in this part of the country, the earlier stages of the
season are assuredly very slow, and for many weeks its progress
is gradual. It is only later in the day, when the buds are all
full, and the flowers ready to open, that we see the sudden gush
of life and joyousness, which is indeed at that moment, almost
magical in its beautiful effects. But this later period is a brief
one; we have scarcely time to enjoy the sudden affluence of
spring, ere she leaves us to make way for summer, and _ people
exclaim at the shortness of the season in America. Meanwhile,
spring is with us in March, when we are yet sitting by the fire-
side, and few heed her steps; now she betrays her presence in

the sky, now in the waters, with the returning birds, upon some

MAPLE SUGAR. 23

single tree, in a solitary plant, and each milder touch gives pleas-
ure to those who are content to await the natural order of things.

Saturday, April 1st.—Fresh maple sugar offered for sale to-
day; it is seldom brought to market as early as this. <A large
amount of this sugar is still made in our neighborhood, chiefly for
_ home consumption on the farms. In the villages, where foreign
groceries are easily procured, it is eaten more as a dainty than in
any other way ; the children are very fond of it, and most grown
persons like a bit now and then, its peculiar flavor making it
pleasant when taken by itself, though it becomes a defect when
used for sweetening food. In the spring, a little of it is not
thought unhealthy, from a fancy that it purifies the blood; prob-

ably it is neither better nor worse in this respect than any other

sugar. With our farmers, however, it is a matter of regular .

household consumption, many families depending on it altogether,
keeping only a little white sugar for sickness ; and it is said that
children have often grown up in this county without tasting any
vut maple sugar. Maple molasses is also very much used, some
persons preferring it to that of the cane, as it has a peculiar flavor
which is liked with puddings, or buckwheat cakes.

Some farmers have a regular “sugar-bush,” where none but
maples are suffered to grow; and on the older farms you occasion-
ally pass a beautiful grove of this kind, entirely clear of under-
wood, the trees standing on a smooth green turf. More frequent-
ly, however, a convenient spot is chosen in the woods where ma-
ples are plenty. The younger trees are not tapped, as they are
injured by the process ; it is only after they have reached a good
size——_ten or twelve inches in diameter——that they are turned to

account in this way; twenty years at least must be their age, as

[ease

24 : RURAL HOURS.

they rarely attain to such a growth earlier ; from his period they
continue to yield their sap freely until they decay. It is really
surprising that any tree should afford to lose so much of its nat-
ural nourishment without injury ; but maples that have been tap-
ped for fifty years or more, are just as luxuriant in their foliage and
flowers, as those that are untouched. ‘The amount of sap yielded
by different trees varies—some will give nearly three times as
much as others; the fluid taken from one tree is also much
sweeter and richer than that of another, as there seems to be a
constitutional difference between them.

From two to five pounds of sugar are made from each tree,
and four or five gallons of sap are required to every pound. The
fluid begins to run with the first mild weather in March ; its
course, however, is checked by a hard frost, until a thaw again
sets it In motion; some years it continues to flow at intervals
until the last of April, so that a regular early spring gives less
time for the work than a backward season, when the sap runs
Jater ; the usual period, however, for sugar-making, is about two
weeks—one year more, another less.

This sugar is made more easily than any other; both the beet
and the cane require much more expense and labor. The process
with the maple is very simple, and consists merely in collecting
the sap and boiling it ; neatness and attention are alone neces-
sary to make the sugar of the best quality. A hole is first bored
into the trunk, from one to three feet from the ground ; a hatchet
or chisel is sometimes used for this purpose, but neat farmers pre-
fer a small auger, less than half an inch in diameter, by which
means the bark is not injured, closing again over the opening

in two or three years. After the hole has been bored, a small

MAPLE SUGAR. 25

——

trough or “spile,” as the country people call it, is mserted ; this is
usually made of a branch of alder or sumach, which is sharpened
at one end and the pith taken out for two or three inches to re-
ceive the sap; from that point it is hollowed into an open trough,
which rests upon the sap-bucket at the foot of the tree. ‘These
buckets are a regular article of manufacture in the country ; they
are made of pine, or at times of bass-wood, and sell at twenty
cents a piece. They are left standing one at the foot of each tree,
to receive the sap as it flows, the little stream of sweet and limpid
fluid running more or less freely, according to the state of the
weather and the character of the tree ; twelve quarts are sometimes
taken in twenty-four hours from one tree, while others scarcely
yield a third as much. The buckets are watched, of course, and
emptied from time to time, the sap being carried to the boiler,
which is often placed over a furnace upon an arch of bricks; often
one large iron boiler is used, but pans of tin are thought prefera-
ble, as they give less color and taste to the sugar. This carrying the
sap to the boiler is a laborious part of the process, and some farm-
ers have all their lesser spouts connected with a large trough
leading to a common reeeptacle near the furnace ; the buckets,
however, are more generally used. ‘Two or three hundred trees
are frequently tapped in the same wood, and as the sap is run-
ning, the fires are burning, and the sugar is boiling all together,
day and night, it is a busy moment at the “ bush.” The persons
at work there, usually eat and sleep on the spot until their task
is done ; and it is a favorite rallymg place with the children and
young people of the farms, who enjoy vastly this touch of camp
life, to say nothing of the new sugar, and a draught of fresh sap now

and then. The sap, however, is not thought a wholesome drink,
2 °

26 RURAL HOURS.

differing in this respect from the juice of the cane, which is con-
sidered particularly healthy, both man and beasts growing fat on
the plantations during the seasons of working among the ripe
canes. When the work at the “bush” is fairly commenced, the
boiler is filled up from time to time with fresh sap during the first
four-and-twenty hours; after that, the fluid is permitted to thicken
to a syrup about half the sweetness of molasses; it is then taken
off and left to cool and settle. About twelve hours later, it is
again put over to clarify——the white of two eggs, one quart of
milk, and half an ounce of saleratus are allowed to fifty pounds
of sugar—and the syrup Is not permitted to boil until the scum has
all risen to the surface and been removed, After this clarifying
has been attended to, the syrup boils until on the point of grain-
ing, as it is called, or in rustic parlance, “sugaring down ;”’ it is
then taken from the fire and placed in tin pans to cool and form

?

the “grain ;” when this process of graining has thoroughly com-
menced, the new sugar is placed in moulds to dram——the harder
particles adhermg together as the sugar, the liquid portion, or
molasses, dropping into a receptacle for the purpose. Of course,
as soon as the boiler has been emptied it is filled up with new sap,
and the same process is repeated until the season has passed, or
the amount required is made. |
There are at present farms in this county where two or three
thousand pounds of sugar are prepared in one season. Formerly
much of our sugar was sent to Albany and New York, and a
portion is, still sold there to the confectioners. During the early

history of the county, half a century since, rents were usually

paid in produce—wheat, potash, sugar, &c., &e.—for the conveni-

ence of the tenants, and it is on record that in one year sixty

MAPLE SUGAR. 7

thousand pounds were received in this way by the leader of the
little colony about this lake ; a portion of it was refined and made
into pretty little specimen loaves at a sugar-house in Philadelphia,
and it was quite as white and pure as that of the cane. The common
sugar about the country is as light as that usually received from the
West Indies, and the farmers have a simple domestic process by
which it is often made quite clear; a clean wet flannel is placed
over the cake while draining, and gradually imbibes the coloring
matter, being washed and changed every morning until the sugar
has become quite white ; if it has been neatly made and clarified,
three or four days will whiten it thoroughly. No doubt there
are maples enough about the country to supply the whole popu-
lation of the Republic, if necessary, but the sugar of the cane can
now be procured so easily, and so cheap, from the West Indies
and the southern parts of our own country, that there is little
motive for making that of the maple an article of commerce.
Maple sugar sells in the village this year for nine cents a pound,
and good Havana for six cents. The farmers, however, are will-
ing to turn their trees to account for their own use, as it saves
them some cash, and requires but little outlay or labor.

A story is told in the village of a Scotch stocking-weaver, who
some years since bought a farm near the lake, and the first spring
after his arrival in the country was so successful with his maple
trees, that in the midst of his labors he came into the village and
gave large orders for sap-buckets, pans, furnaces, &c. The good
folk were rather surprised at the extent of these preparations, and
inquiries were made about this grand sugar-bush. They were told
: by their new neighbor that as yet he had tapped only a small num-

ber of trees, but he intended soon to go to work in earnest among

28 RURAL HORS.

the maples, and, indeed, had quite made up his mind, “ canny Scot,”
as he was, to “ give up farming altogether, and keep to sugar-mak-
ing all the year round oem plan which, it may be imagined, tickled
the fancy of Jonathan not a little, knowing the ways of maples as
he did. Many other trees are tapped for their juices in different
parts of the world—the pines for their turpentine, as we all know,
and the celebrated cow-tree of South America for its nourishing
fluid, yielding vegetable milk, as it were, in regions where the
milk of domestic animals seems to have been unknown; and still
farther South, on this great continent, they prepare from the sap
of the Palm of Chili, a syrup of the consistency of honey, using
it as an article of food. In Northern Europe, the birch sap is
made into a drink which they call birch-wine, and in this country
vinegar is occasionally made in the same way. In the Crimea,
the Tartars regularly make sugar from the fine walnut-trees on
the shores of the Black Sea. So says Dr. Clarke in his Travels.
The lime or basswood also yields a saccharine fluid. Our own

hickory is thought to have the sweetest and richest sap of any

. tree in the woods, and we have heard of superior sugar being

made in small quantities from it by certain New England house-
wives. It would not be generally available for the purpose, how-
ever, as the amount of sap yielded is very small.

According to the last general Census, the whole amount of
maple sugar made during one year in this county, with a popu-
lation of 49,658, was 351,748 pounds, or nearly eight pounds to
each individual. The whole amount of sugar made in the State,
was 10,048,109 pounds. The census does not specify the differ-
ent kinds of sugar, but it is so well known that no other sort but

maple is made in our part of the country, as a manufacture, that

NE

MAPLE SUGAR. 99

it is scarcely worth while to subtract anything from the general
reports on account of some experiments here and there, in corn
‘or beet sugar. ‘Taking the reports then, as they stand, we find
that there are forty-nme counties in which maple sugar is man-
ufactured, and nine counties in the immediate neighborhood of
New York, where none is made. The largest amount made in
one county, is reported from St. Lawrence, upwards of 848,000
pounds among a population of 56,000; Chatauque comes very
near this, however, giving 839,000 pounds for 47,000 persons.
There are nine counties making more than we do; Putnam reports
the smallest amount, only 73 pounds, probably the produce of
one “bush.” The whole amount of various sugars made in the
country during the year 1839-40, was upwards of 155,000,000
of pounds; since then, this quantity has nearly doubled, and it is
supposed that about half the sugar now consumed by us, is man-
ufactured within our own borders. Of course, a very great pro-
portion comes from the cane plantations of Louisiana, &c., &e.;
probably some beet and corn sugar in small quantities may be
included in the calculations, but the tables of the’last census did
not specify the different varieties made in each State; and our
only guide in forming an opinion as to the total amount of maple
sugar made in the country, must be the respective geographical
limits of the cane and the maple. Sugar of one sort or another
is made in almost every State; Delaware and the District of
Columbia are the only exceptions. We understand that maple
sugar is made in Virginia and Kentucky, the first reporting 1,541,-
848, the last 1,899,835 pounds of sugar; probably this is in a
very great measure from the maple. If we give about one-fifth of

the whole amount, or some 31,000,000 of pounds to maple sugar,

30 RURAL HOURS.

probably we shall not be very far from the truth; we are inclined
to believe this calculation rather below than above the mark.
From being almost entirely consumed on the ground where it is
made, this sugar, however, attracts public attention much less
than it would do if it were an article of commerce to the same
extent.

Monday, 3d.—Delightful day; first walk in the woods, and
what a pleasure it is to be in the forest once more! ‘The earlier
buds are swelling perceptibly--those of the scarlet maple and
elm flowers on the hills, with the sallows and alders near the
streams. We were struck more than usual with the mosses and
lichens, and the coloring of the bark of the different trees; some of
the chestnuts, and birches, and maples show twenty different
shades, through grays and greens, from a dull white to blackish
brown. These can scarcely vary much with the seasons, but they
attract the eye more just now from the fact that in winter we
are seldom in the woods; and at this moment, before the leaves
are out, there is more light falling on the limbs and trunks than
in summer. ‘The ground mosses are not yet entirely revived; »
some of the prettiest varieties feel the frost sensibly, and have
not yet regained all their coloring.

The little evergreen plants throw a faint tinge of verdure over
the dead leaves which strew the forest; in some spots, there is
quite a patch of them, but in other places they scarcely show at
all. We have many in our woods, all pleasant little plants ;
their glossy leaves have generally a healthy character, and most
of them bear pretty and fragrant blossoms at different seasons.
Some ferns have been preserved, as usual, under the snow ; though

they are sensitive to the frost, yet in favorable spots they seem

WILD FLOWERS.—THE LAKE. 31

to escape until the snow falls and shields them, preserving them
through the winter in a sort of half evergreen state, like some
other garden and field plants. This year there are more of these
fern leaves than usual, and they are pleasing, though flattened
to the ground by the snow which has been weighing them down.

Nothing like a flower in all the wide woods. But the ground
laurel is in bud and will blossom before long; we raked up the
dead leaves to look for it, and some of the buds are very large
and promising.

The robins, and sparrows, and bluebirds were singing very
sweetly as we came home toward evening ; there are many more
now in the village than in the woods. The wheat is looking
green; the other fields are still brown. Every day the lake
grows more dull and gloomy.

Tuesday, 4th—The frogs were heard last night for the first
time this season.

Wednesday, 5th.—First seed sown in the garden to-day ; peas,
beets, onions, &e., &e.

Friday, 6th.—Bright sun, but cool air, which keeps back the
swelling buds; and if these come out too soon they are in great
danger of being injured by frost. The ice is still in the lake,
and knowing ones say we never have warm weather until the
waters are open. ‘There is no current in our lake, or so little at
least, it is scarcely perceptible; not enough to carry the ice off,
and it melts slowly away. Heavy rains are a great help in get-
ting rid of it, and after an opening is once made in the weak crust,
a high wind will work upon it like magic, dashing it into frag-
ments, and piling it on the shores, when it vanishes in a very

short time. We have known the lake well covered, and men

ere

32 RURAL HOURS.

walking upon the ice at two o'clock, when at four on the same
day—thanks to a high wind—the waters were entirely free. For
some days now the ice has been lying quite detached from the
shores, looking all the more unsightly for the narrow border of
clear blue water encircling the gloomy island.

Explored a sunny bank in the woods, with the hope of finding
a stray ground laurel, but we saw only the buds. Berries were
very plenty ; it was a perfect bed of the squaw-vine and partridge
berry. Stout young pines threw their branches over the bank,
and the warm afternoon sun pouring upon trees and_ plants,
brought out strongly the aromatic odors of both; the air was
highly scented with this fresh, wild perfume of the forest. A
wood of evergreens is generally fragrant ; our own pines and cedars
are highly so; even the fallen pine leaves preserve their peculiar
odor for some time. There is an ancient allusion to the fragrance
of the cedar of Lebanon, in the last chapter of the prophet Hosea,
who lived in the eighth century before the Christian era; speaking
of the mercies God had in store for his people, he says, “I will
be as the dew unto Israel; he shall grow as the lily, and cast
forth his roots as Lebanon. His branches shall spread, and his
beauty shall be as the olive-tree, and his smell as Lebanon.”

The little partridge plant is also very aromatic. Like the
orange-tree, this humble plant bears fruit and flowers together ;

its white cups hanging side by side with the coral berries through

_ the mild weather, from early in May to the sharpest frosts in

October. It is true these plants grow in groups, and, although
side by side, fruit and flower may belong to different stems; but
we have seen the berries and fresh blossoms on the same stalk.

There is no period of the year when you may not find the berries,

FRAGRANT EVERGREENS. 33
but they are in season late in autumn and in the succeeding
spring. The snow under which they lie for months ripens them,
though they are perhaps more spicy in the autumn. Their form
when perfect is remarkable for a fruit; it has five sharp drooping
points at the apex, and within these lies, as it were, a second
smaller rose-colored berry, containing the tiny seed; they are
seldom found in this mature state until a year old, and it is in
June that the berries break open and drop the seed. The birds
are very fond of this berry, and some eat the spicy little seeds
while they reject the fleshy part. A pair of Florida nonpareils,
kept in a cage in the village, used to delight in these.

- The squaw-vine, with its long creeping branches, is a con-
stant companion of the partridge berry the year round, com-
mon in all the woods. Its pretty rounded leaflets are regularly
strung in pairs on thread-like vines, often a yard or more in length,
with here and there a large red berry in their midst; these last
are edible, though insipid. The flowers are slender delicate pink
bells, pale without, deep rose-color within; they are very fra-
grant, and oddly enough the two blossoms form but one large
berry, the fruit bemg marked with a double face, as it were, bear-
ing the remains of the two calices.

It would seem that among our evergreen plants a larger pro-
portion are fragrant than among their deciduous companions ; it
cannot, however, be the strength of the plant which gives it this
additional charm, for what is so sweet as the mignionette, or the
European violet, both fragile plants ?

Saturday, 8th.—Delightful day. A white-breasted nut-hatch
among the trees on the lawn; these active, amusing birds are res-

ident in the State, but one cannot vouch for their remaining all
9%

rr

34 RURAL HOURS.

winter among our hills, as we have never yet observed them in
cold weather. It is not a very common bird here, but may pos-
sibly be found in the woods by those who look for it through the
year. We were amused by watching our little visitor this morn-
ing; he never touched the spray, always alighting on the trunk,
or on a principal limb, running nimbly up some distance, and
then flying off to another in ceaseless movement, without a mo-
ment’s intermission. ‘This bird has other peculiar habits. He
sleeps with his head downwards, and he is said to have one qual-
ity rare among his race; he is a curious little rogue, and seems
desirous of observing your own odd ways, while you are watch-
ing his; then, he is a remarkably good husband, taking a vast
deal of pains to feed and amuse his wife, and listening to all her .
remarks and observations in the most meritorious manner. For
several days we have observed this nut-hatch running over the
same trees, probably in search of some particular insect, or eggs,

just now in season for them.

Sunday, 9th.—Six o’clock, P. M.—The lake has been opening
all day. ‘The ice began to break up early in the morning ; be-
tween the time of going to church and returning, we found great
changes ; and now, so far as the eye can reach, the blue waters
are once more quite free. The day has been cool; wind from
the north-west.

Monday, 10th.—Lovely weather; air warm and soft. The
open lake very beautiful. A decided green tinge rising upon
the earth; the wheat-fields are always the first to show the
pleasant change as they revive after the severe winter frosts;
then the grass begins to color in the orchards, about the roots of

the apple-trees, and patches brighten in sunny sheltered spots,

SPRING.—PLEASANT WALKS. 35

along the roadsides, and about the springs. This year, the first
grass that tured green within view, was beneath a tuft of young
locusts, and it now continues some shades brighter than all about
it, though for what reason one cannot say. Possibly it may be
ewing to the fact that the locust leaves decay soon after falling,
and thus nourish the grass; all traces of them soon disappear ;
this is also the case with the foliage of the apple, while that of
many other trees lies about the roots for months, or is blown
away by the winds. The cattle, both cows and horses, seem
partial to the grass beneath the locusts; it is amusing to watch
them make their way in and out among a grove of young locusts
armed with thorns; they don’t like these at all, but still the grass
tempts them in, and after feeding there, you may see them back-
ing very carefully out again. Some of the trees have a touch of
life upon their branches, though no green is yet perceptible; but
the bark on the young twigs looks glossy, and the spray thickens
with the swelling buds; the elm and soft maple flowers, the cat-
kins of the alder and poplars, and the downy heads of some of
the sallow tribe are budding.

Charming walk. Went out with the hope of findmg some
flowers, but were unsuccessful; none of the buds were open
enough to show the coloring of a blossom. Saw two butterflies
on the highway—a brown, and a black and yellow. The cedar
birds have come ; they winter in the State, but never, I believe,
among our hills. Although disappomted in our search for flow-
ers, the view of the lake was enjoyment enough for one day ;
standing on the hill-side within the woods, we looked down be-
neath an archway of green branches, and between noble living

columns of pine and hemlock, upon the blue waters below, as

ag

36 RURAL HOURS.

though we were gazing at them through the elaborate mouldings
of a great Gothic window—a fine frame for any picture. Several
boats were moving about, and there was a sparkling ripple play-
ing in the sunshine, as though the waters enjoyed their freedom.
Tuesday, 11th.—Coming in from a walk this afternoon, we
found a beautiful oriole perched upon the topmost bough of a
locust on the lawn; no doubt he had just alighted after his jour-
ney, for they travel singly and by day, the males appearing first.
The new comers among the birds often perch in that way, with
an observing look, on their first arrival. It is early for orioles,
but we gave our guest a hearty welcome, with an invitation to
build near the house ; we seldom fail to have one of their hang-
ing nests on our narrow lawn, and some years two families have
built here. Our visitor looked brilliantly handsome, as he sat
high on the leafless tree, in his coat of golden red and black; but
in spite of their fanciful costume, the orioles are just as well be-
haved as the robms—harmless, inocent birds, bearing an excel-
lent character. We all know how industrious and skilful they
are in building; both work together at weaving the intricate nest,
though the wife is the most diligent. They are particularly affec-
tionate to their young; if any accident befalls the brood, they
grieve so earnestly that they actually forget to eat, returning re-
peatedly to the spoiled nest, as if in hopes of yet finding some
one of their little flock. Their voices are remarkably deep and
clear, but they have few notes; those. few they will sometimes
vary, however, by imitating their neighbors, betraying an inclina-
tion to mimicry. One taste they share in common with the hum-
ming-bird, and some others ; they like flowers, the apple blossoms

especially, feeding on them as long as they last, and even com-

THE ORIOLE.—SNOW AND ICE. 3h

mencing their feast before the buds are well open. From the mo-
ment they arrive, you see them running about the apple branches;
as if already on the watch, and so long as the trees are in bloom,
you may hear their full, clear voices in the orchards at most hours
of the day. Probably they like other flowers also, since the ap-
ple-trees are not indigenous here, and they must have begun to
feed upon some native blossoms of the forest; they are occasion-
ally seen in the wild cherry-trees, and are said to be partial to
the tulip-trees also; but these last do not grow in our neighbor-
hood. Mr. Wilson says the Baltimore oriole is not found in the
pine countries, and yet they are common birds here—regular mem-
bers of our summer flock; and we have remarked they are very
often seen and heard among the pines of the churchyard ; it is
quite a favorite haunt of theirs.

The orchard oriole, a much plainer bird, is a stranger here,
though common at no great distance. If they visit us at all, it
must be rarely ; we have never yet seen them about the lake.

Wednesday, 12th.—On one of the hills of Highborough, several
miles from the village, there is a point where, almost every spring,
a lingering snow-bank is seen long after the country generally
looks pleasant and life-like. Some years it lies there in spite of
warm rains, and south winds and sunshine, until after the first
flowers and butterflies have appeared, while other seasons it goes
much earlier. Time gives greater consistency and powers of en-
durance to ice and snow, just as a cold heart grows more obdu-
rate with every fruitless attempt to soften its fountains ; old snow
in particular, wears away very slowly—as slowly as an old preju-
dice! This handful of ice lying so late on Snow-Patch Hill,

would doubtless prove, in a colder region, or among higher hills,

38 RURAL HOURS.

the commencement of a glacier, for it is precisely on this princi-
ple that glaciers are formed and continue to extend until they
stretch at last into the flowery meadows, as in Switzerland, where
you find strawberries and ice in the same field. Let a snow-bank
harden into ice by successive thaws and frosts, pass through one
summer, and the next year it will be more than doubled in bulk,
continuing to increase in size, and consequently in strength, until
it bids defiance to the greatest heats of summer. It is in this way,
that from the higher peaks of the Alps and Andes, covered with
these vast ice mantles, five thousand years old, glaciers stretch
far down into the region of grass and flowers, increasing rather
than diminishing every year, since what is lost in summer seldom
equals what is added in winter.

Thursday, 13th—A solitary goldfinch on the lawn. They win-
ter about New York, but seldom return here in large numbers be-
fore the 1st of May.

A brown creeper has been running over the locusts on the
lawn for several days ; it is unusual to see them in the village, but
this bird remained so long that his identity was clearly settled.
The little fellow continued for an hour or more among the same
trees visited previously by the nut-hatch, and during that time he
was not still a second. Always alighting on the trunk near the
roots, he ascended to the top; then taking flight, alighted at the
roots of the next, repeating agam and again the same evolutions
with untiring rapidity. If he found the insects he was in search
of, he must have swallowed them without much ceremony, for he
never seemed to pause for the purpose of eating. Probably, like
the nut-hatches, these birds neglect the smaller limbs of a tree be-

cause their prey is not found there.

THE INSTINCT OF BIRDS. 39

Friday, 14th.—Rainy morning. Passing through one of the
village streets this afternoon, we saw a robin’s nest in a very low
and exposed position. The honest creatures must have great
confidence in their neighbors, which, it is to be hoped, will not be
abused. It was in the corner of an out-building facing the street,
and so near the side-walk, that it looked as though one could
shake hands with the inmates across the paling. It was entirely
unscreened ; a stray branch of aneighboring locust projected, in-
deed, above it; but if the robins expect the foliage to shelter
them, at this early day, they have made a sad miscalculation.
The mother bird was on the nest as we passed, sitting, of course ;
she slowly moved her large brown eyes toward us as we stopped
to watch her, but without the least expression of fear ;—indeed,
she must see the village people coming and going all day long, as
she sits there on her nest._

What a very remarkable instinct is that of a sitting bird. By
nature the winged creatures are full of life and activity, appa-
rently needing little repose, flitting the live long day through the
fields and gardens, seldom pausing except to feed, to dress their
feathers, or to sing ;—abroad, many of them, before dawn, and

still passing to and fro across the darkening sky of the latest twi-

light ;—capable also, when necessary, of a prolonged flight which ~

stretches across seas and continents. And yet there is not one of
these little winged mothers but what will patiently sit, for hour
after hour, day after day, upon her unhatched brood, warming
them with her breast—carefully turning them—that all may
share the heat equally, and so fearful lest they should be chilled,
that she will rather suffer hunger herself than leave them jong

exposed. That it is no unusual drowsiness which comes over

40 RURAL HOURS.

them at this time, rendermg the duty more easy, is evident, for
you seldom find them sleeping; their bright eyes are usually
open, and they look, indeed, quite thoughtful, as though already
reflecting about their little family. The male among some tribes
occasionally relieves his mate by taking her place awhile, and among
all varieties he exerts himself to bring her food, and to sing for her
amusement. But altogether, this voluntary imprisonment of those
busy, lively creatures is a strikmg instance of that generous en-
during patience which is a noble attribute of parental affection.
There are many instances in which a temporary change of
habit, or of character, as it were, is produced by the same powerful
feeling, where the careless become watchful, the timid bold, the
weak strong, under its influence. The eagle, the chief among his
race, is a striking mstance of this when he lowers his lordly wings
to bear a burden in behalf of his young. This peculiar tender-
ness of the eagle, in bearing its young on the back, is entirely
opposed to the common habits of birds, who almost invariably
carry their less precious burdens, their food, or the materials for
their nests in their bills, or their claws. Whether the eagles in
this part of the world resort to the same practice one cannot say ;

that the Eastern eagle does so we feel assured, for it is implied in

- two striking passages of Holy Scripture. The Almighty Jehovah

who has vouchsafed to represent himself to man in the paternal
character, as conveying to our minds the strongest idea of his
compassionate providence, when addressing his people of old,
was pleased to employ this image: ‘“ Ye have seen what I did to
the Egyptians, and how I bear you on eagles’ wings, and brought
you unto myself.” And, again, the inspired Prophet, when sing-

ing the salvation of Israel through the merciful care of the Al-

A RAMBLE IN THE WOODS. 4]

mighty, says: ‘As an eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over
her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth
them on her wings, so the Lord alone did lead him’”—as we read
in the Song of Moses, in Deuteronomy.

Saturday, 15th.—Cool rain, at mtervals, for the last day or
two; pleasant again this afternoon. Walked in the woods look-
ing for flowers ; went some distance in vain, but at last near the
summit of the hill we found a bunch of fresh ground laurel, the
first wild blossoms of the year to us, and prized accordingly ;
there were many more in full bud, but no other open.

Since we were last in the woods, the squirrel-cups (hepaticas)
have sprung up; their modest little lilac cups, in half-open buds,
are hanging singly here and there over the dead leaves, and very
pretty they are in this stage of their short life; they have a timid,
modest look, hanging leafless from their downy stalks, as if half
afraid, half ashamed of being alone in the wide woods; for their
companion, the ground laurel, remains closely wrapped in the
withered leaves. It cannot be said that either of these plants is
fairly in bloom; they are only opening—a slow process with the
arbutus, but a rapid one with the hepatica. The mosses are in
great beauty now; several varieties are in flower, and exquisitely
delicate; the dark brownish moss, with its white-capped flowers
and. tiny red stalk, and a daimty companion of light green, with a
blossom of the same tint, are in perfection. Wherever we went,
they were so abundant, and so beautiful in their spring freshness,
as to delight the eye.

Fresh grass butter from the farm to-day.

Monday, 17th.—A few white-bellied swallows sailing over the

village yesterday ; but one swallow does not make a summer, nor

42 RURAL HOURS.

can a dozen either; we must expect cool weather yet. These
little birds are in favor in the New York markets, after they have
fattened themselves upon the whortleberries in the autumn; for
unlike their kindred tribes of the swallow and martin race, who
live wholly, it is believed, on insects, these are berry-eaters also.
They are said to be peculiar to this continent.

Tuesday, 18th.—The fishing-lights enliven the lake now, of an
evening, and they are often seen well into the night. They are
spearing pickerel, a good fish, though inferior to some others in
our lake. Formerly, there were no pickerel here, but some years
since they were introduced from a smaller sheet of water, ten or
twelve miles to the westward, and now they have become so abun-
dant that they are the most common fish we have——taken at all
seasons and in various ways. They are caught in summer, by
“trolling,” a long line being thrown out and drawn in from the
stern by the fisherman, who stands, while an oarsman rows the
boat quietly along; during the warm weather, one may see at
almost any hour of the morning or afternoon, some fishing skiff
passing slowly to and fro in this way, one man at the oars, one at
the line, trolling for pickerel. In the evening, they carry on the
sport with lights in the bows of the boats, to attract the fish ;
they are often speared in this way, and we have heard of their
being shot with a pistol, which seems what a sailor might call a
“lubberly” way of attacking fish—certainly, honest Jack would not
have approved of this unfishermanlike proceeding. In the winter,
the pickerel are also caught through holes cut here and there in
the ice—lines with baited hooks being secured to the ice and left
there—the fisherman returning from time to time to see what suc-

cess his snares have had. The boys call these contrivances “ tip-

HOUSE-CLEANING. 43

ups,” from the bit of stick to which the line is attached, falling
over when the fish bite. The largest pickerel caught here, are
said to weigh about six pounds.

Wednesday, 19th.—The great spring house-cleaning going on
in the village just now, and a formidable time it is in most fami-
lies, second only as regards discomfort, to the troubles of moving.
Scarce an object about a house seems in its proper place—topsy-
turvy is the order of the day ; curtains and carpets are seen hang-
ing dut of doors, windows are sashless, beds are found in passages,
chairs are upside down, the ceiling is in possession ef the white-
wash brush, and the mop “has the floor,” as reporters say of Hon,
M. C’s. Meanwhile, the cleaners, relentless as Furies, pursue the
family from room to room, until the last stronghold is invaded, and
the very cats and dogs look wretched. Singular as it may ap-
pear, there are some active spirits in the country—-women spirits, of
course——who enjoy house-cleaning : who confess that they enjoy it.
But then there are men who enjoy an election, and it was settled
ages ago that there is no arguing upon tastes. Most sensible peo-
ple would be disposed to look upon both house-cleaning and. elec-
tions, as among the necessary evils of life—far enough from its
enjoyments. One would like to know from which ancestral na-
tion the good people of this country inherit this periodical clean-
ing propensity ; probably it came from the Dutch, for they are

the most noted scourers in the old world, though it is difficult to

believe that such a sober, quiet race as the Hollanders, could have
carried on the work with the same restlessness as our own house-
wives. Weare said to have taken the custom of moving on May-
day, from our Dutch forefathers, and I believe there is no doubt

of that fact; but then we may rest assured that a whole town

44 RURAL HOURS.

would not set about moving the same day in Holland. In that
sensible, prudent land, not more, perhaps, than a dozen house-
holders at a time, are expected to sacrifice comfort and furniture
by such a step. On the Zuyder Zee, it probably takes a family
at least a year to make up their minds to move, and a year more
to choose a new dwelling. But see what this custom has become
under the influence of go-aheadism ! May-day, for ages associated
with rhymes, sweet blossoms, gayety, and kindly feeling, has be-
come the most anti-poetical, dirty, dusty, unfragrant, worrying,
scolding day in the year to the Manhattanese. So it is with this
cleaning process. Most civilized people clean their dwellings :
many nations are as neat as ourselves; some much neater than
we are ; but few, indeed, make such a fuss about these necessary
labors ; they contrive to manage matters more quietly. Even
among ourselves, some patriotic women, deserving well of their
country, have made great efforts to effect a change in this respect,
within their own sphere, at least; but alas! in each instance they
have, we believe, succumbed at length to general custom, a ty-
rant that few have the courage to face, even in a good cause.

It must be confessed, however, that after the great turmoil is
over—when the week, or fortnight, or three weeks of scrubbing,
scouring, drenching are passed, there is a moment of delightful
repose in a family; there is a refreshing consciousness that all is
sweet and clean from garret to cellar; there is a purity in the |
household atmosphere which is very agreeable. As you go about
the neighborhood, the same order and cleanly freshness meet you
as you cross every threshold. This is very pleasant, but it Is a
pity that it should be purchased at the cost of so much previous

confusion—so many petty annoyances.

APRIL SHOWERS.—THE SWALLOWS. 45

Friday, 21st.—Fresh lettuce from the hot-beds.

Saturday, 22d.—The sky cloudy, with April showers, but we
ventured to take a short walk. There were never more brown
flowers on the elms; it is unusual to sée them in such very great
abundance; the trees are thickly clothed with them. The soft
maple is also showing its crimson blossoms. The grass is grow-
ing beautifully ; there is a perceptible difference from day to day,
and it is pleasant to note how the cattle enjoy the fresh, tender
herbage of the pastures after the dry fodder of the barn-yard.
We followed the Green Brook through the fields into the woods ;
on its banks gathered some pretty pink bells of the spring beauty.

The barn swallows have made their appearance, and the flocks
of the white-billed swallows seem to have increased by new ar-
rivals.

Monday, 24th.—The young leaves on the lilacs, currents, and
some early roses and honeysuckles, are springing—the first
branches to look green. In the woods the young violet and
strawberry leaves look fresh and tender among the withered
herbage, and the older evergreens.

Tuesday, 25th.—Charming day. Went into the woods this
afternoon to gather a harvest of trailing arbutus. It takes many
to make a pretty bunch, for the leaves are large and often in the
way, so that one is obliged to use the scissors freely when mak-
ing them into anosegay. The plant stretches its vine-like, woody
branches far and wide over the hill-sides in thick patches ; its large,
strong, rounded leaves grow in close tufts—small and large together
—and, although tough in texture, they are often defective in rusty
spots, especially the old leaves which have been lying under the

snow; in summer, they are brighter and more perfect. The

46 RURAL HOURS

flowers grow in clusters at the end of the stems, from two to a
dozen, or fifteen in a bunch, pmk or white, larger or smaller,
varying in size, number, and tint; they are not very much unlike
the blossom of a hyacinth, though scarcely so large, and not
curled at the edges. They are very fragrant; not only sweet, but
with a wild freshness in the perfume, which is very agreeable.
Our search began in an old pine grove, on the skirts of the vil-
lage, but we found nothing in flower there; the soil is good, and
there is no want of young plants of various kinds, which will
blossom by-and-bye, but at present there are no flowers to be
gathered there. In the adjoining wood, we had no better luck ;
it is a dense growth of young hemlocks and pines, where nothing
else thrives—much the darkest and gloomiest about the village ;
the sunshine never seems to penetrate the shade enough to warm
the earth, which is covered with rusty pine leaves. We climbed
to higher ground, but no arbutus was there; still we persevered,
and at last, near the top of the hill, some remarkably fine clusters
were discovered, and from that moment they were found in
abundance. They seem often to open first on the hill-tops, but
they are in full bloom now in many places.

There is more than usual interest in gathering these flowers,
from their peculiar habits. One may easily pass over ground
where they abound without observing them, unless one knows
their tricks of old; for they often play hide and go seek with
you, crouching about old stones, and under dead leaves, and
among mosses. But here and there you may see a pretty fresh
cluster peeping out from among last year’s withered herbage, as
though it bloomed from lifeless stalks; and when you stoop to

eather it, raking away the dead leaves, you find a dozen bunches

THE TRAILING ARBUTUS. AY

in near neighborhood under the faded covering. Perhaps half
these sweet flowers lie closely shrouded in this way under the
fallen foliage of the forest. After coming at length to the right
ground, this afternoon, we were very successful; they are in full
season, and never were finer—large and very fragrant. Several
bunches of those we gathered, were growing so prettily, that it
seemed a pity to pull them; some showing their fragrant heads
among rich mosses, while others were hooded in large withered
leaves of the oak, chestnut, and maple. The sun had dropped
low while we were busy at our pleasant task, but we lingered a
moment to look dewn upon the village as it lay in the valley
below, the picture of cheerful quiet, and upon the lake, with sweet
evening tints playing over the water; and then descending the

hill at a quick pace, we succeeded in reaching the village before

the sun had quite set.

Not a single squirrel-cup was seen on our path to-day, yet they
abound in many places.

Wednesday, 26th.—The young plants in the gardens are begin-
ning to show in those beds which were made early ; peas, beets,
&c., &c. The good people of the village are many of them busy
now with their gardens, and pleasant, cheerful work it is. From
the time of Adam down, it has always looked well to see man, or
woman either, working in a garden. In a village, one sees the

task going on regularly in all the little neighborhood, at the same

moment. We thought of poor , who told his worthy
mother he should like to live to see them make garden once more in
the villaze—poor fellow, he has been in his grave these five weeks.

Thursday, 27th.—Long, pleasant walk. A humming-bird flew

past us, the first we had seen.

48 RURAL HOURS.

Followed an old wood road for some distance. Squirrel-cups
in abundance ; though very regular in other respects, these little
flowers are not all colored alike: some are white, others pink,
lilac, or grayish blue. They are a nice little flower, with a mod-
est, unobtrusive air, which is very engaging. When they first
appear, they shoot up singly, each blossom alone on its downy
stalk; but now they have gained courage, standing in little groups,
gleaming gayly above the withered foliage. Their young downy
leaves do not show yet, although a few of last year’s growth are
found, in a half-evergreen state. One often sees these flowers at
the foot of trees, growing on their roots, as it were ; and perhaps it
is this position, which, added to their downy, furred leaves and
stems, has given them the name of squirrel-cups—a prettier name,
certainly, for a wood flower, than liverwort, or its Latin version,
hepatica.

The small yellow violets are springing up; they also show their
golden heads before their leaves are out. It seems singular that
the flower, which is the most precious and delicate part of the
plant, should, ever be earlier than the leaf, yet it is the case with
many plants, great and small; among trees it is very common.
Doubtless there is a good reason for it, which one would like to
know, as the learned in such matters have probably found it out.

The arbutus is now open everywhere in the woods and groves.
How pleasant it is to meet the same flowers year after year! If
the blossoms were liable to change—if they were to become capri-
cious and irregular—they might excite more surprise, more curiosi-
ty, but we should love them less; they might be just as bright,
and gay, and fragrant under other forms, but they would not be

the violets, and squirrel-cups, and ground laurels we loved last

THE BLACK-BIRDS. 49

year. Whatever your roving fancies may say, there is a virtue in
constancy which has a reward above all that fickle change can
bestow, giving strength and purity to every affection of life, and
even throwing additional grace about the flowers which bloom in
our native fields. We admire the strange and brilliant plant of
the green-house, but we love most the simple flowers we have
loved of old, which have bloomed many a spring, through rain and
sunshine, on our native soil.

Radishes from the hot-beds to-day.

Thursday, 27th.—A flock of the rusty black-bird or grakles
about the village ; they have been roving to and fro several days.
We generally see these birds for a short time in autumn and spring,
but they do not remain here. They move in flocks, and attract
attention whenever they are in the neighborhood, by perching to-
gether on some tree. Half those now here are brown; both the
females and the younger males being of this color: there is a
great difference, also, between the males and females, as regards
size.

All kinds of black-birds are rare here; they are said to have
been very numerous indeed at the settlement of the country, but
have very much diminished in numbers of late years. And yet,
they are still very common in some of the oldest parts of the
country, where they are a very great annoyance to the farmers.
These rusty grakles are northern birds; the common black-bird,
occasionally seen here in small parties, comes from the south.
The red wing black-bird or starling, we have never seen in this
county; it may possibly be found here, but certainly is not
so common as elsewhere. Nor is the cow-bunting often seen

with us ; and as all these birds are more or less gregarious, they

50 RURAL HOURS.

soon attract attention wherever they appear. They are arrant
corn thieves, all of them. It is odd, that although differmg in
many respects, these birds of black plumage, with the crow at
their head, have an especial partiality for the maize.

Saturday, 29th.—The tamaracks are putting forth their bluish
green leaves, the lightest in tint of all their tribe; the young
cones are also coming out, reminding one somewhat of small straw-
berries by their color and form, but they soon become decidedly
purple, then green, and at last brown. The tamarack is very
common about the marshy grounds of this county, attaining its
full height in our neighborhood. There are many planted in the
village, and in summer they are a very pleasant tree, though in-
ferior to the European larch. Some individuals become diseased
and crooked—a great fault in a tree, whose outline is marked by
nature with so much regularity—though the same capricious bro-
ken line often becomes a beauty in wood of a naturally free and
careless growth. ‘This defect is much more common among trans-
planted tamaracks, than with those you find growing wild in the
low grounds.

May \st.—Cloudy sky; showery; not so bright as becomes
May-day. Nevertheless, we managed to seize the right moment
for a walk, with only a little sprinkling at the close. It would
not do to go into the woods, so we were obliged to be satisfied with
following the highway. By the rails of a meadow fence, we
found a fine border of the white puccoon; these flowers, with
their large, pure white petals, look beautifully on the plant, but
they soon fall to pieces after beng gathered, and the juice in their
stalks stains one’s hands badly. We gathered a few, however,

by way of doing our Maying, adding to them some violets scat-

THE WILLOW. 51

tered along the road-side, and a bunch of the golden flowers of
the marsh marigold, which enticed us off the road into a low,
boggy spot, by their bright blossoms; a handsome flower, this—
the country people call it cowslip, though differmg entirely from
the true plant of that name.

The golden willows are coming into leaf. The weeping willow
is not seen here, our winters are too severe for it. Some persons
think, that by watching a young tree carefully, and giving it sev-
eral years to take root, without being discouraged by its slow
growth, it would in time become acclimated; the experiment is
now going on, but its success is very doubtful. At present, there
is no weeping willow within some distance of us, excepting a cou-
ple of young nurslings in gardens of the village. Not that we
aretoofar north for this tree, since it is found, even on this con-
tinent, in a higher latitude than our own. which is 42° 50°; but
the elevation of this highland valley above the sea, usually called
1200 feet, gives us a cooler climate than we should otherwise
have. The native willows of America are numerous, but they are
all small trees, many mere bushes; the tallest in our own neigh-
borhood, are about five-and-twenty feet high. The golden wil-
low of Europe, however, is common here, and thrives very well,
attaining its full size; some of these in the village are very hand-
some trees; they are now just putting out their first tender green
leaflets, which, as they grow larger, take a much graver color.

When we read of those willows of Babylon, in whose shade
the children of Israel sat down and wept, thousands of years ago,
we naturally think of the weeping willow which we all know to
be an Asiatic tree. But the other day, while reading an obser-

vation of a celebrated Easter: traveller, the idea suggested itself,

————_——__—

52 RURAL HOURS.

that this common impression might possibly be erroneous. ‘The
present desolation of the country about Babylon is well known;
the whole region, once sc fertile, appears now to be little better than
a desert, stripped alike of its people, its buildings, and its vegetation,
all of which made, in former times, its surpassing glory and its
wealth. If at one moment of a brief spring, grass and flowers
are found upon those shapeless ruins, a scorching sun soon blasts
their beauty; as for trees, these are so few that they scarcely
appear in the general view, though, on nearer observation, some
are found here and there. One of these, described by Mr. Rich,
as an evergreen, like the lignum-yvitz, is so old that the Arabs say
it dates with the ruins on which it stands, and it is thought that
it may very possibly be a descendant of one of the same species
in. the hanging gardens of Nebuchadnezzar, which are supposed
to have occupied the same site. Immediately on the banks of the
river, there is also said to be a fringe of jungle, and here willows
are growing ; but they are not described as the weeping willow.
Speaking of the Euphrates, Sir Robert Ker Porter says: “Its
banks were hoary with reeds, and the gray ozier willows were yet
‘there, on which the captives of Israel hung up their harps.” Now
it is scarcely probable that a writer of the merit of Sir R. Porter,
familiar with the weeping willow, as he must have been, would
describe that beautiful tree as a gray ozeer. Several other travel-
lers also speak of the fringe of jungle on the Euphrates, and the
ozeer growing there. Not one of several we have been looking
over, mentions the noble weeping willow; on the contrary, the
impression is generally left that the trees are insignificant in size,
and of an inferior variety. If such be really the case, then, and

the term grav ezier be correct—if willows are growing to-day

THE WILLOW. : 53
where willows are known to have stood ages since—is it not nat-
ural to suppose that both belonged to the same species? Such
is the view Sir R. Porter has taken, whatever variety the trees
may belong to. He supposes them to be the same which shaded
the captives of Israel. Altogether, after reading the passage of
this distinguished traveller, one feels some misgivings lest the
claim of the weeping willow, in connection with the 187th Psalm,
prove unfounded. One would like to see the proofs clearly made
out in behalf of the weeping willow. The assertion, that it is the
tree of the Psalmist is universally made, but we have never yet
seen a full and complete account of the grounds for this opinion ;
and, so far as we can discover, no such statement has yet been
published. Probably, however, the question may be very easily
settled by those who have learning and books at command.
Oziers are incidentally made mention of by very ancient authors
in connection with Babylon. The framework of the rude boats,
described by Herodotus, was of ozier. This at least is the word
given in the translation, and many modern travellers assure us
that oziers are now applied to the same purpose by the boatmen
of Mesopotamia. Another evidence that this kind of willow was
formerly common on that ground, is found in the ruins them-
selves. M. Beauchamp, in the account of his investigations of the
remains of Babylon, during the last century, says: “The bricks
are cemented with bitumen. Occasionally layers of oziers in bitu-
men are found.” Other travellers speak of reeds also in the bitumen ;
so that the plant, and the tree, named by Sir R. Porter, as now
found on the banks of the Euphrates—the ozier and the reed—
are thus proved, by the most clear and positive evidence, to have

also existed there in ancient times.

5A RURAL HOURS.

Two versions of the 137th Psalm have been given to the Christian
world by the Church of England, and they differ in some minor
points of the translations. That in the Psalter of the Prayer Book
was one of the earliest works of the Reformation, taken from the
Septuagint, in the time of Archbishop Cranmer. It does not
name the tree on which the Israelites hung their harps. “ By
the waters of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered
thee, O Sion. As for our harps, we hanged them up upon the
trees that are therem. For they that led us away captive required
of us then a song and melody in our heaviness. Sing us one of
the songs of Sion.” The translation in the Holy Bible, made
later, from the original, approaches still nearer to the simple dig-
nity of the Hebrew: ‘By the waters of Babylon there we sat
down, yea, we wept when we remembered Zion. We hanged
our harps upon the we/ows in the midst thereof. For there, they
that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that
wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs
of Zion.”

The two translations of this noble Psalm, also differ slightly
in their last verses. In the Prayer Book, these verses stand as
follows: ‘“O, daughter of Babylon, wasted with misery, yea,
happy shall he be that rewardeth thee, as thou hast served us.
Blessed shall he be that taketh thy children and dasheth them
against the stones.” The translation of the Holy Bible, by closer
adherence to the original, in a single phrase becomes more di-
rectly prophetic m character: ‘“O, daughter of Babylon, who art
to be destroyed (or wasted), happy shall he be that rewardeth
thee, as thou hast served us. Happy shall he be that taketh

and dasheth thy little ones against the stones.”

ANCIENT BABYLON, 55

To the utmost has this fearful prophecy been fulfilled: Baby-
lon has been destroyed ; the cruelties with which she visited Je-
rusalem were repaid her in full by the awful justice of the Al-
mighty, and the happy fame of her Persian conqueror has long
been firmly fixed in history. What sublime, prophetic power in
those simple words—‘“ who art to be destroyed ”’—when ad-
dressed by the weeping captive to the mighty city, then in the
height of her power and her pride! That destruction has long
since been complete ; Babylon is wasted indeed ; and we learn with
interest from the traveller, that beside her shapeless ruins, stand
the “ gray ozier willows, on which the captives of Israel hung up
their harps;” mute and humble witnesses of the surrounding
desolation.

Wednesday, 8d.—Pleasant walk on the open hill-side. Sweet,
quiet day; if the leaves were out, they would not stir, for the
winds are all asleep. Walking over pasture-ground, we did not
find many flowers: only a few violets here and there, and some
young strawberry flowers, the first fruit-bearing blossom of the
year. The fern is coming up, its woolly heads just appearing
above ground, the broad frond closely rolled within ; presently the
down will grow darker, and the leaves begin to uncurl. The
humming-birds, and some of the many warblers, use the wool of
the young fern-stalks to line their nests.

The valley looked pleasantly from the hill-side this afternoon ;
the wheat-fields are now very brilliant in their verdure, some of
a golden green, others of a deeper shade. Nearly half the fields
are ploughed this season, and the farms look like new-made gar-
dens. As we stood on the quiet, open down, a sweet song, from

a solitary bird, broke the stillness charmingly: it came from the

a

56 RURAL HOURS.

edge of a bare wood above, but we could not see the little

singer.

The beech-bushes have a comical look at this season, growing
many together, and huddling their dead leaves so tenaciously about
their lower branches, they put one in mind of a flock of bantam
chickens, with well feathered legs; one would think these warm
May-days, they would be glad to throw off their winter furbelows.

Thursday, 4th.—Potatoes planted in the garden to-day. First
mess of asparagus. Also, ice at table.

The chimney-swallows have come in their usual large num-
bers, and our summer flock of swallows is now complete. Of
the six more common varieties of this bird found in North Amer-
ica,* we have four in our neighborhood, and the others are also
found within a short distance of us.

The white-bellied swallows came first to the village this year ;
they are generally supposed to be rather later than the barn-swal-
lows. This pretty bird has been confounded with the European
martin; but itis peculiar to America, and confined, it would seem,
to our part of the continent, for their summer flight reaches to the
fur countries, and they winter in Louisiana. It is said to resem-
ble the water-martin of Europe in many of its habits, being par-
tial to the water, often perching and roosting on the sedges ;
they are very numerous on the coast of Long Island, but they
are also very common in this mland county. Occasionally, you
see them on the branches of trees, which is not usual with others

of their tribe.

* Three other varieties have been observed in North America, but they are all
rare. The beautiful violet-green swallow of the Rocky Mountains, Vaux Chim-

ney Swift, on the Columbia, and the rough-winged swallow of Louisiana.

THE SWALLOW. 57

The barn-swallow resembles, in many respects, the European
chimney-swallow ; yet it is, in fact, a different variety—entirely
American. Where the European bird is white, ours is bright
chestnut. They are one of the most numerous birds we have;
scarcely a barn in the country is without them; they seldom
choose any other building for their home. They are very busy,
cheerful, happy tempered creatures, remarkably peaceable in their
disposition, friendly to each other, and to man also. Though
livmg so many together, it is remarkable that they do not quarrel,
showing what may be done in this way by sensible birds, though
very sensible men and women seem, too often, to feel no scruples
about quarrelling themselves, or helping their neighbors to do so.
They are often seen at rest on the barn roofs, and just before
leaving us for a warmer climate, they never fail to collect out of
doors on the fences and plants. They go as far north as the
sources of the Mississippi, and winter far beyond our southern
boundary.

The chimney-swallow is also wholly American. The European
bird, which builds in chimneys, is\very different in many respects,

placing its nest frequently in other situations, while our own is
never known, under any circumstances, to build elsewhere. Be-
fore the country was civilized, they lived in hollow trees; but
now, with a unanimity in their plans which is very striking, they
have entirely deserted the forest, and taken up their abode in our
chimneys. They still use twigs, however, for their nests, show-
ing that they were originally a forest bird ; while many others, as
the robin and the oriole, for instance, gladly avail themselves of
any civilized materials they find lying about, such as strings,

thread, paper, &c., &c. Our chimney swift has no beauty to
3%

58 RURAL HOURS.

boast of ; it is altogether plain, and almost bat-like in appearance,
but, in its way, it is remarkably clever and skilful. It is as good*
at clinging to a bare wall, or the trunk of a tree, as the wood-
pecker, its tail being shaped like that of those birds, and used for
the same purpose, as a support. The air is their peculiar element;
here they play and chase the insects, and feed and sing after
their fashion, with an eager, rapid twitter; they have little to do
with the earth, and the plants, and the trees, never alighting, ex-
cept within a chimney. They feed entirely on the wing, sup-
plying their young also, when they are able to fly, in the same
manner, and they seem to drink flying as they skim over the
water. A cloudy, damp day is their delight, and one often sees
them out in the rain. How they provide the twigs for their nests,
one would like to know, for they are never observed looking for
their materials on the ground, or about the trees ;—probably they
pick them up as they skim the earth. Their activity is wonder-
ful, for they are on the wing earlier and later than any other of
their busy tribe. Often of a summer’s evening one sees them
pass when it is quite dark—near nine o’clock—and the next morn-
ing they will be up, perhaps, at three; they are said, indeed, to
feed their young at night, so that they can have but little rest at
that season. Some persons shut up their chimneys against them,
on account of the noise, which keeps one awake at times; and
they have a trick of getting down into rooms through the fire-
place, which is troublesome to neat housekeepers ; the greatest
objection against them, however, is the rubbish they collect m
the chimneys. Still one cannot quarrel with them; for their rapid
wheeling flight, and eager twitter about the roof of a house, gives

it a very cheerful character through the summer. They will not

THE MARTIN. 59

build in a flue that is used for fire, but mind the smoke so little
that they go in and out, and put up their nests in an adjoming
flue of the same chimney. They remain later than the barn-
swallow, go farther north in spring, and winter beyond the limits
of our northern continent.

The purple martin is another bird belonging to our Western
World, entirely different from the martin of Europe; it is a bird
of wide range, however, over this continent, reaching from the
Equator to the northern fur countries. The largest of its tribe,
it is a very bold, courageous creature, attacking even hawks and
eagles when they come into its neighborhood; but it is always
very friendly and familiar with man. Mr. Wilson mentions that
not only the white man builds his martin-house for these friends
of his, but the negroes on the southern plantations put up long
canes with some contrivance to invite them to build about their
huts; and the Indians also cut off the top branch of a sapling,
near their wigwams, and hang a gourd or calabash on the prongs
for their convenience. Although these birds are so common in
most parts of the country, yet they are comparatively rare with
us. Formerly they are said to have been more numerous, but
at present so little are they known, that most people will tell you
there are none about the village. On making inquiries, we found
that many persons had never even heard their name. Bird-nesting
boys know nothing of them, while farmers and gardeners, by the
half dozen, told us there were no martins about. We stopped
before an out-building, the other day, with a martin-house in the
gable, and asked if there were any birds in it. “There are no

martins in this neighborhood,” was the answer, adding that they

had been seen some dozen miles off. Again, passing through a

60 RURAL HOURS.

barn-yard, we asked a boy if there were any martins there.
“Martins ?” he inquired, looking puzzled. “No, marm; I never
heard tell of such birds hereabouts.” The same question was
very often asked, and only, in two or three instances, received a
different answer; some elderly persons replying that formerly
there certainly were martins here. At length, however, we dis-
covered a few, found their abode, and observed them coming and
gomg, and a little later, we saw others on a farm about two miles
from the village ; still, their numbers must be very small when
compared with the other varieties which everybody knows, and
which are almost constantly in sight through the warm weather.
It is possible that the flock may have been diminished, of late
years, by some accidental cause; but such, at least, is the state
of things just now.

The pretty little bank-swallow, another very common and nu-
merous tribe, is entirely a stranger here, though found on the
banks of lakes and rivers at no great distance; we have seen
them, indeed, in large flocks, among the sand-hills near the Sus-
quehanna, just beyond the southern borders of the county. This
is the only swallow common to both hemispheres, and it is of this
bird that M. de Chateaubriand remarks he had found it every-
where, in all his wandermgs over Asia, Africa, Europe, and
America.

That the cliff-swallow should also be a stranger here, is not at
all remarkable; a few years since, there were none east of the
Mississippi. In 1824, a smgle pair first appeared within the
limits of New York, at a tavern near Whitehall, a short distance
from Lake Champlain; shortly after Gov. De Witt Clinton intro-

duced them to the world at large by writing a notice of them ;

elGp ise Je din teh ALAIN

(HY

rtleco lt

LF

of WE

Lith

Putra, NY.

@.

y Hey : vy
as wire)

: in ae
“gH A

1

. ;
.
:
* :
LF
"
|
é ;
- | a a -
|
;

:
» ; |
; 2
«
c =
i
j
oR ne
‘
‘
a
= '
Y
silt
.
i
("
; ;
on oe
t F
; ~—* *
<3
" 4
‘ ‘ 7
f
a

A THUNDER SHOWER. 61

they are now rapidly increasing and spreading themselves over the
country. The Rocky Mountains seem to have been their great
rallying ground; they are found there in great numbers ; and as
the Prince of Canino observes, they have advanced eastward to
meet the white man. These new-comers remain but a short time,
about six weeks in June and July, and then disappear again, tak-
ing flight for tropical America. They are entirely unknown in
Europe, or any part of the old world. They have more variety
in their markings than most swallows.

Friday, 5th.—¥ine shower last night, with thunder and light-
ning; everything growing delightfully. Such days and nights
as these, in early spring, the effect produced on vegetation, by
electricity and rain together, is really wonderful. M. de Candolle,
the great botanist, mentions an instance in which the branches of
a grape-vine grew, during a thunder shower, no less than an inch
and a quarter in the course of an hour and a half! Really, at
that rate, one might almost see the plant grow.

The young buds are coming out beautifully; the tufts of scar-
let flowers on the soft maples are now daintily tipped with the
tender green of the leaf-buds in their midst, and the long green
flowers of the sugar maple have come out on many trees; yes-
terday, there were none to be seen. White blossoms are open-
ing in drooping clusters, also, on the naked branches of the June-
berry ; this is a tree which adds very much to the gayety of our
spring; it is found in every wood,and always covered with long
pendulous bunches of flowers, whether a small shrub or a large
tree. There is one in the churchyard of great beauty, a tree
perhaps five-and-thirty feet in height; and standing among ever-

greens as it does, it looks beautifully at this season, when covered

62 RURAL HOURS.

with its pendant white blossoms. There is a tree in Savoy, called
there, the amelanchier, near of kin to this of ours. The poplar,
or poppels as the country people call them, are already half-
leaved, How rapid is the advance of spring at this moment of
her joyous approach! And how beautiful are all the plants in
their graceful growth, the humblest herb unfolding its every leaf
in beauty, full of purpose and power !

Saw a little blue butterfly on the highway. Gathered a fine
bunch of pink ground laurel, unusually large and fragrant , they
have quite out-lasted the squirrel-cups, which are withered. Saw
a fine maroon moose-flower—its three-leaved blossom as large
as a tulip—the darkest and largest of our early spring flowers.

Saturday, 6th—Warm, soft day. The birds are in an ecstasy,
Goldfinches, orioles, and blue-birds enliven the budding trees
with their fine voices and gay plumage; wrens and song-sparrows
are hopping and singing about the shrubbery ; robins and chip-
ping-birds hardly move out of your way on the grass and gravel,
and scores of swallows are twittering in the air, more active, more
chatty than ever ;—all busy, all happy, all at this season more or
less musical. Birds who’ scarcely sing, have a peculiar cry,
heard much more clearly and frequently at this season, than any
other ;—the twittering of the swallows, for instance, and the pro-
longed chirrup of the chipping-bird, so like that of the locust,
when heard from the trees. The little creatures always enjoy a
fine day extremely, but with more zest during this their honeymoon,
than at any other season. Our summer company have now all
arrived, or, rather, our runaways have come back; for it is plea-
sant to remember that these are really at home here, born and

raised, as the Kentuckians say, in these groves, and now have

SUGAR MAPLES. 63

come back to build nests of their own among their native branches.
The happiest portion of their bird-life is passed with us. Many
of those we see flitting about, at present, are doubtless building
within sight and sound of our windows; some years we have
counted between forty and fifty nests in our own trees, without
including a tribe of swallows. Many birds like a village life ; they
seem to think man is a very good-natured animal, building chim-
neys and roofs, planting groves, and digging gardens for their
especial benefit; only, they wonder not a little, that showing as
he does a respectable portion of instinct, he should yet allow
those horrid creatures—boys. and cats—to run at large in his
domain.

Monday, 8th.—On many of the sugar maples the long flowers
are hanging in slender green clusters, while on others they have
not yet come out; and year after year we find the same difference
between various individuals of the same species of maple, more
marked, it would seem, among these than with other trees. Some
are much in advance of others, and that without any apparent cause
—trees of the same age and size growing side by side, varying this
way, showing a constitutional difference, like that observed in
human beings among members of one family. Frequently the
young leaves of the sugar maple are only a day or two behind
the flowers; they begin to appear, at least, at that time, but on
others, again, they wait until the blossoms are falling. These
green flowers hanging in full clusters on long filaments, give
a pleasing character to the tree, having the look of foliage at a
little distance. Generally they are a pale green, but at times, on

some trees, straw-color. The sugar maples, unlike many other

flowering trees, do not blossom young; the locusts, amelanchiers,

64 RURAL HOURS.

fruit trees generally, &., &c., blossom when mere shrubsthree or.
four feet high; but the sugar maple and the scarlet maple are
good-sized trees before they flower. There are many about the
village which are known to be twenty years old, and they have
not yet blossomed.

The American maples—the larger sorts, at least—the sugar, the
scarlet, and the silver maples, are assuredly very fine trees. <A
healthful luxuriance of growth marks their character ; regular and
somewhat rounded in form when allowed to grow in freedom,
their branches and trunks are very rarely distorted, having almost
invariably an easy upward inclination more or less marked. The
bark on younger trees, and upon the limbs of those which are
older, is often very beautifully mottled in. patches or rings of
clear grays, lighter and darker—at times almost as white as that
on the delicate birches. The northern side of the branches is
usually with us much more speckled than that toward the south.
They are also very cleanly, free from troublesome vermin or in-
sects. Few trees have a finer foliage; deep lively green in color,
while the leaves are large, of a handsome form, smooth and
olossy, and very numerous; for it is a peculiarity of theirs, that
they produce every year many small shoots, each well covered
with leayes. When bare in winter, one remarks that their fine
spray is decidedly thicker than that of many other trees. To
these advantages they add their early flowers in spring, and a
beautiful brilliancy of colormg in the autumn. The European
maple, a different tree entirely, comes into leaf after the elm, and
is even later than the ash; but those of this part of the world
have the farther merit of being numbered among the earlier trees
of the forest.

wr

o.

DIFFERENT VARIETIES OF MAPLES. 65

Nor does the luxuriant beauty of the maple mislead us as to
its properties ; it is a highly valuable wood. We should be very
thankful for its sugar, if that imported from other regions could
not be procured; to the Indians it was very precious, one of the
very few luxuries known to them. Jn winter, it ranks with the
better sorts of fuel for heat and a cheerful blaze, and the different
kinds are employed for very many useful and ornamental pur-
poses. <A large amount of furniture of the better sort is made of
the various maples. A few years back, maple ranked next to
mahogany for these purposes, but lately black walnut has been
more in favor. With the exception of the ash-leaved variety, a
Western tree, all the American maples are said to be found in this
county. The moose-wood,* a small tree of graceful, airy growth,
and bearmg the prettiest flowers of the tribe, to whose young
shoots the moose is said to have been so partial; the mountain
maple, a shrub growing in thick clumps with an upright flower,
the scarlet maple, the silver, the sugar, and the black sugar ma-
ples, are all included among our trees. They all, except the
shrubby mountain maple, yield a portion of sweet sap, though
none is so liberal in the supply as the common sugar maple. The
very largest trees of this kind in our neighborhood are said to be
about three feet in diameter, and those of forest growth attain to
a great height, from sixty to eighty feet ; but the common maples
about the country are rarely more than eighteen inches in diam-

eter, and forty or fifty feet high.t As their wood is usually sound

* Sometimes twenty feet high, in this county,
+ The sugar maple does not thrive in England, seldom growing there to more
than ‘fifteen feet in height. The silver maple, on the contrary, succeeds very well

in Europe.

66 RURAL HOURS.

and healthy, they probably attain to the age of the elm, or ash,
&e., &c., but we have never heard any accurate calculations on
the subject.

Tuesday, 9th.—The lake very beautiful; there is often, at this
time of the year, a delicacy and softness in the waters, produced,
no doubt, by the atmosphere of a still spring day, which is in
beautiful harmony with the season.

A pleasant hour toward evening, pacing to and fro under a
mild, cloudy sky, near the bridge; the birds seem to have col-
lected there for our especial amusement, but in reality, were at-
tracted, no doubt, by some insects from the water; it was a
greater gathermg than we have seen this spring, and several
among the party were of more interest than usual. Swallows by
scores, chimney, barn, and white-bellied, were sailing about us in
ceaseless motion, now passing above, now below the bridge, often
so near that we might almost have touched them. A Pheebe-
bird sat quietly on a maple branch within a stone’s throw, giving
us a song ever and anon, as we passed up and down; they have
a trick of sitting in that way on the same twig, at no great dis-
tance from their nest, and they are much given to build about
bridges. Robins were there, of course, they are never out of
sight at this season; sparrows were stealing m and out of the
bushes, while goldfinches and blue-birds were coming and going.
But these were all familiar; it was a couple of little birds flut-
tering about the blossoms of a red maple, that chiefly attracted
eur attention, from their novelty ; their yellow, and red, and brown
markings, and peculiar quick, restless movements among the
branches, were new to us. ‘They were half an hour in sight, and

several times we stood very near the maples where they were

A

STRANGE BIRDS. 67

feeding ; one of them flew away, but the other remained, coming
nearer and nearer, from branch to branch, from tree to tree, until
he reached the fence by which we stood. We were very anx-
ious to discover what bird it was, for under such circumstances,
it is tantalizing not to be able to settle the question. We sup-
posed, at first, that they were strangers, on their way north, for
about this time, many such transient visitors are passing north-
ward, and only loitermg here and there by the way. It is not
usual, however, for such birds to travel in pairs, and these seemed.
mated, for after one had flown away down the river, the other
showed a strong determination to take the same course, as though
there might be the beginning of a nest in that direction. He madea
motion toward taking flight, then observing us, stopped; we stood
quite still in the walk, the bird sitting on the branch for a min-
ute ormore. ‘Then again he made a movement, and took flight in
the direction which crossed our path; but, silly little fellow that
he was, after flymg a yard or two, which brought him immedi-
ately before us, where we might essily have struck him with a
parasol, his courage failed: he continued fluttering on the spot,
or rather lying-to in the air, as a sailor might say, when, awk-
wardly changing his direction, he flew back to the very branch he
had quitted. An unusual manceuvre this, for a bird; and strange-
ly enough, he repeated this proceeding twice, seeming very anx-
ious to follow his companion down the river, and yet dreading to
pass so near such formidable creatures as ourselves. Again he
took flight, again he paused and fluttered just before us, again
returned to the branch he had left. Silly little thing, he might
easily have soared far above us, mstead of passing so near, or

sitting on a branch where we could have killed him a dozen times

pe a enn es GL IO eR * Nt a a OE OS

G8 RURAL HOURS.

over, if wickedly inclined; but he behaved so oddly, that had we
been either snakes or witches, we should have been accused of
fascinating him. Again, the third time, he took flight, and pass-
Ing near us as quickly as possible, his heart no doubt beating ter-
nbly at the boldness of the feat, he succeeded at last in cross-
ing the bridge, and we soon lost sight of him among the bushes
on the bank. But while he sat on the branch, and especially as
he twice fluttered with distended wings before us, we saw his
markings very plainly; they came nearer to those of the yellow
red-poll than any other bird of which we could obtain a plate.
This is a southern bird, scarcely supposed to breed so far north,
I believe, and it is quite possible that the strangers may have been
some other variety. The yellow red-poll, however, is said to be
very partial to the maple flowers, and these were found feeding
on the maple blossoms, hopping from one tree to another.

This pretty stranger had scarcely flown away, when a great
awkward kingfisher rose from the river, passing above the bridge,
screaming with surprise when he found a human creature nearer
than he had supposed ; he also flew down the river. Then a party
of chicadees alighted among the alder bushes. These were follow-
ed by a couple of beautiful little kinglets, ruby crowns, among the
smallest of their race; and while all these lesser birds were moy-
ing about us, a great hawk, of the largest size, came along from
the lake, and continued wheeling for some time over a grove of
pines in an adjoining field. We were not learned enough to know
what variety of hawk this was, but every other bird of that nu-
merous flock—robins, sparrows, swallows, ruby crowns, blue-birds,
goldfinch, Phoebe-bird, chicadee, kingfisher, and the doubtful yel-

low red-poll—were all varieties peculiar to America.

SD PRIPAAPUT uM JOT “uN eeougnd ‘I 9

38,0) INIeE | CeLWrak 1Et sO qaLsauo

PURPLE FINCHES. 69

Wednesday, 10th.—More or less rainy and showery for the last
day or two. It has thus far been raining steadily all day, which
does not happen very often; the fires are lighted again. Much
too wet for walking, but it is pleasant to watch the growth of
things from the windows. The verdure has deepened several
shades during the last four-and-twenty hours; all the trees now
show the touch of spring, excepting the locusts and sumachs, in
which the change is scarcely perceptible. Even the distant for-
est trees now show a light green coloring in their spray, and the
ploughed fields, sown with oats some ten days since, are chang-
ing the brown of the soil for the green of the young blades.

The rain seems to disturb the birds very little, they are hopping
about everywhere in search of their evening meal.

Thursday, 11th.—Black and white creepers in the shrubbery ;
they are a very pretty bird, so delicately formed. A large party
of purple finches also on the lawn; this handsome bird comes
from the far north at the approach of severe weather, and win-
ters in different parts of the Union, according to the character of
the season ; usually remaining about Philadelphia and New York
until the middle of May. Some few, however, are known to pass
the summer in our northern counties; and we find that a certain
number also remain about our own lake, having frequently met
them in. the woods, and occasionally observed them about the vil-
lage gardens, in June and July. Their heads and throats are
much more crimson than purple just now, and they appear to
great advantage, feeding in the fresh grass, the sun shining on
their brilliant heads; more than half the party, however, were
brown, as usual, the young males and females being without the

red coloring, They feed in the spring upon the blossoms of flow-

"0 RURAL HOURS.

ering trees ; but this afternoon they were eating the seeds out of
decayed apples scattered about the orchards.

Also saw again one of the strange birds—yellow red-polls—we
watched near the bridge, but could not approach as near as at the
first interview ; he was in our own garden among the beds, appa-
rently eating insects as well as maple blossoms.

Walked in the woods. The fly-honeysuckle is in full leaf, as
well as in flower; it is one of our earliest shrubs. We have sev-
eral varieties of the honeysuckle tribe in this State. The scarlet
honeysuckle, so common in our gardens, is a native plant found
near New York, and extending to the southward as far as Carolina.
The fragrant woodbine, also cultivated, is found wild in many woods
of this State ; the yellow honeysuckle grows in the Catskill Moun-
tains; a small variety with greenish yellow flowers, and the hairy
honeysuckle with pale yellow blossoms and large leaves, are
among our plants. There are also three varieties of the fly-
honeysuckle, regular northern plants, one bearing red, another
purple, another blue berries; the first is very common here,
found in every wood; there is said to be a plant almost identical
with this in Tartary.

Friday, 12th.—The aspens are in leaf, and look beautifully on
the hill-side, their tremulous foliage being among the very earliest
to play in the spring breezes, as their downy seeds are the first of
the year to fly abroad ;these are as common in the wood at one
moment in the spring, as the thistle-down later in the season
among the fields ; one often sees them lying in little patches along
the highway, looking like a powdering of snow-flakes. The birds
of some more delicate tribes use this down to line their nests—

the humming-bird, for mstance. We have been looking and in-

A WN UuLIUTING F-9

WME TaUymM

lo4 cy,

T10d -adgu

WIND AND RAIN. val

quiring for the Tackamahac, the great northern or balsam poplar ;
it is found at Niagara and on Lake Champlain, but the farmers
about here seem to know nothing of it. This is a tree of some
interest, from the fact that it preserves its size longer than any
other wood as it approaches the pole, and the greater portion of
the drift-wood in the arctic seas belong to this species. On the north-
west coast, it is said to attain a very great size, one hundred and
sixty feet in height, and twenty feet in diameter! Poplars, through
their different varieties, appear to stretch far over the globe, some
being found in the heart of the warm countries of Southern Eu-
rope and Asia, others on the skirts of the arctic regions. The
wood used for architectural purposes in the sultry plains of Meso-
potamia is said to be almost wholly a variety of the poplar, a na-
tive of Armenia, which is the region of the peach.

Saturday, 13th.—It still continues showery, in spite of several
attempts to -clear, We have had much more rain than usual
lately. A high gust came sweeping down the valley this after-
noon, driving the rain in heavy sheets before the face of the hills,
while pines and hemlocks were tossing their arms wildly on the
mountain-tops, and even the bare locusts bent low before the wind ;
white-caps were rolling with much more power than usual in our
placid lake; the garden-walks and the roads were flooded in a
moment, and pools formed in every hollow on the lawn; the
water literally poured down upon us as if from some other re-
ceptacle than the clouds. Let us hope this is the closing shower,
for one longs to be abroad in the woods again.

Monday, 15th.—Beautiful day. Long drive and walk in the
hills and woods. While we have been housed in the village, how

much has been going on abroad! The leaves are opening rapidly,

AP RURAL HOuRS.

many of the scarlet maples have their foliage quite formed and
colored, though scarcely full-sized yet. The old chestnuts and
oaks are in movement, the leaves of the last coming out quite
pinkish, a bit of finery of which one would hardly suspect the

chiefs of the forest, but so it was in Chaucer’s time:

‘© Every tree well from his fellowes grewe
‘With branches broad ; laden with leaves newe,
That springen out against the sunne’s sheene,

Some very red, and some a glad light greene.”
}

Very many of the trees open their leaf-buds with a warm tint
in the green; either brown, or pink, or purplish. Just now, the
leaves of the June-berry are dark reddish brown, in rich con-
trast with its white pendulous flowers. Some of the small oak
leaves, especially those of the younger trees, are the deepest
crimson; the sugar maples are faintly colored; the scarlet maples,
on the contrary, are pure green, seeming to have given all their
color to the flowers; the mountain maples are highly colored,
and the bracts of the moose-wood are quite rosy, as well as
some of their leaves. Elms seem to be always green, and so are
the beeches; the black birch is faintly tinged with russet at first,
the others are quite green. ‘The ashes and hickory are a very
light green. It is said that this tenderness and variety of tint
in the verdure, so charming in spring as we know the season, be-
longs especially to a temperate climate. In tropical countries, the
buds, unguarded by bracts like our own, are said to be much
darker; and in arctic regions, the young leaves are also said to
be of a darker color, One would like to know if this last asser-

tion be really correct, as it seems difficult to account for the fact.

WILD FLOWERS—WARM WEATHER. 73

Flowers are unfolding on all sides—in the fields, along the
road-side, by the fences, and in the silent forest. One cannot go
far, on any path, without finding some fresh blossoms. ‘This is a
delightful moment everywhere, but, in the woods, the awakening
of spring must ever be especially fine. The chill sleep of winter
in a cold climate is most striking within the forest; and now we
behold life and beauty awakening there in every object ; the varied
foliage clothing in tender wreaths every naked branch, the pale
mosses reviving, a thousand young plants arismg above the
blighted herbage of last year in cheerful succession, and ten
thousand. sweet flowers standing in modest beauty, where, awhile
since, all was dull and lifeless.

Violets are found everywhere; the moose-flowers are increas-
ing in numbers; young strawberry blossoms promise a fine crop
of fruit; the whortleberry-cups are hanging thickly on their low
branches, and the early elders are showing their dark, chocolate
flower-buds, which we should never expect to open white. The
ferns are also unrollng thew long-colored fans. We gathered
some ground laurel, but the squirrel-cups are forming their seed.

Tuesday, 16th.—Warm, cloudy day. The weather clears
slowly, but the air is delightful, so soft and bland. Sirolled
away from the village in quiet fields by the river, where sloping
meadows and a border of wood shut one out from the world.
Sweetly calm; nothing stirring but the river flowing gently past,
and a few solitary birds flitting quietly to and fro, like messen-
gers of peace. The sunshine is scarcely needed to enhance the

beauty of May. The veil of a cloudy sky seems, this evening, to

throw an additional charm over the sweetness of the season.

At hours like these, the immeasurable goodness, the infinite
4

74. RURAL HOURS.

wisdom of our Heavenly Father, are displayed in so great a de-
gree of condescending tenderness to unworthy, sinful man, as
must appear quite incomprehensible—entirely incredible to reason
alone—were it not for the recollection of the mercies of past years,
the positive proofs of experience; while Faith, with the holy
teaching of Revelation, proclaims “the Lord, the Lord God, mer-
ciful and gracious, long-suffermg, and abundant in mercy and
goodness.” What have the best of us done to merit one such
day in a lifetime of follies, and failings, and sins? The air we
breathe so pure and balmy, the mottled heavens above so mild
and kindly, the young herb beneath our feet so delicately fresh,
every plant of the field decked in beauty, every tree of the forest

clothed in dignity, all unite to remind us, that, despite our own

unworthiness, ‘‘ God’s mercies are new every day.”

Perhaps some of us have carried heavy hearts about with us
during the month of May. ‘There is sorrow on earth amid the
joys of spring as at other seasons, but at this gracious and beau-
tiful period the works of the Great Creator unite in themselves to
cheer the sad. Often during hours of keen regret, of bitter dis-
appointment, of heavy grief, man is called upon to acknowledge
how powerless is the voice of his fellow-man when offering con-
solation. It seems as though at such moments the witty became
dull, the eloquent tedious, the wise insipid, so little are they en-
abled to effect. Not, indeed, that true friendship has no balm to
offer the afflicted; the sympathy of those we love is ever pre-
cious, and God forbid we should despise one kindly feeling, one
gentle word. But as the days roll onward amid the sorrows, the
strifes, the deceits, the cares which beset our path, it must often

happen that the full measure of our grief—it may be of our

CONSOLATION. 75

weakness—will be known to our Maker only. We often need
much more than sympathy. The wisest and greatest among us
often require guidance, support, strength; and for these, when
they fail on earth, we must look above. Blessed is the Christian
who has then at hand the Word of God, with its holy precepts,
its treasures of eternal comfort. How often to hearts, long since
passed into dust, have its sacred pages proved the one source of
light when all else was darkness! And, from the Book of Life,
let the mourner turn to the works of his God; there the eye,
which has been pained with the sight of disorder and confusion,
will be soothed with beauty and excellence; the ear, wearied with
the din of folly and falsehood, will gladly open to sounds of gentle
harmony from the gay birds, the patient cattle, the flowing waters,
the rustling leaves. It was not merely to gratify the outer senses
of man that these good gifts were bestowed on the earth; they
were made for our hearts, the ever-present expression of love,
and mercy, and power. When the spirit is harassed by the
evils of life, it is then the works of God offer to us most fully
the strengthening repose of a noble contemplation; it is when
the soul is stricken and sorrowful that it turns to the wise, and
beautiful, smile of the creation for a clearer view of peace and

excellence :

“Vernal delight and joy, able to drive
All sadness but despair.”

Christian men of ancient times were wont to illustrate the pages
of the Holy Scriptures with choice religious paintings and deli-
cate workmanship ; they sent far and wide for the most beautiful

colors; they labored to attain the purest lines, the most worthy

pea rpm nye a ee wen

76 RURAL HOURS.

expression, the most noble design. Not a page did they leave
unadorned, not a letter where each was formed by the hand, but
showed the touch of a master ;—not a blank leaf nor a margin,
but bore some delicate traces of pious labors. And thus, to-day,
when the precious Book of Life has been withdrawn from the
cloisters and given to us all, as we bear its sacred pages about in
our hands, as we carry its holy words in our hearts, we raise our
eyes to the skies above, we send them abroad over the earth, alike
full of the glory of Almighty Majesty,—e¢reat and worthy illumi-
nations of the written Word of God.

Coming home through the fields, we found an old pine stretch-
ed its entire length on the grass; it must have lain there for
years, slowly mouldering away, for it was decayed throughout
and fallen asunder in many places so as to follow the curving sur-
face of the ground, but the whole line was entire, and measuring
it with a parasol, we made its height to be more than a hundred
feet, although something was wanting at.the summit.. Its diam-
eter, without the bark, was less than two feet.

Wednesday, 17th.—Pleasant weather. In our early walk, be-
fore breakfast, we found many of the bob’lnks playing over the
meadows, singing as they flew, their liquid, gurgling medley fall-
ing on the ear, now here, now there. These birds build on the
cround among the grass or grain, but often perch on the trees.
They are one of the few birds about us who sing on the wing,
and are almost wholly meadow-birds, rarely coming into the vil-
lage. Saw summer yellow-birds also, more wholly golden, and
of a deeper color than the goldfinch, but not so prettily formed.

Many young leaves are dotting the trees now, spray and fo-

liage both showing. The woods are quite green; the rapidity

= a re >

EVENING. ny

with which the leaves unfold between sunrise and sunset, or dur-
ing a night, is truly wonderful! The long, graceful catkins are
drooping from the birches, and the more slender clusters are
also in flower on the oaks. The beeches are behind most forest
trees, but the leaves and some of the flowers are coming out here
and there. It is given as a general rule, that those trees which
keep their leaves longest in autumn are the earliest in spring, but
the beech is a striking exception to this; preserving its withered
leaves tenaciously even through the winter, but putting out the
new foliage after many of its companions are quite green. The
Comptonia or sweet-fern is in flower, the brown, catkin-like blos-
soms are nearly as fragrant as the foliage; it is the only fern we
have with woody branches.

Evening, 9 o’clock.—The frogs are keeping up a vigorous bass,
and really, about these times, they often perform the best part
of the concert. Just at this season, the early morning and late
evening hours are not the most musical moments with the birds ;
family cares have begun, and there was a good deal of the nurse-
ry about the grove of evergreens in the rear of the house, to-night.
It was amusing to watch the parents flying home, and listen to
the family talk gomg on; there was a vast deal of twittering and
fluttering before settling down in the nest, husband and wife seemed
to have various items of household mformation to impart to each
other, and the young nestlings made themselves heard very plain-
ly ; one gathered a little scolding, too, on the part of some moth-
er-robins. Meanwhile, the calm, full bass of the frogs comes up
from the low grounds with a power that commands one’s atten-

tion, and is far from unpleasing. It reminds one of the oboe of
an orchestra.

49 RURAL HOURS.

Thursday, 18th.—The violets abound now, everywhere, in the
grassy fields, and among the withered leaves of the forest ; many
of them grow in charming little tufts, a simple nosegay in them-
selves; one finds them in this way in the prettiest situations pos-
sible, the yellow, the blue, and the white. A pretty habit, this,
with many of our early flowers, growing in little sisterhoods, as
it were; we rarely think of the violets singly, as of the rose, or
the lily; we always fancy them together, one lending a grace to
another, amid their tufted leaves.

There are many different varieties. Botanists count some fif-
teen sorts in this part of the country, and with one or two excep-
tions, they are all probably found in our neighborhood. There
are some eight different kinds of the blue, or purple, or gray, these
colors often changing capriciously ; three more are yellow ; three
more again are white, and one is parti-colored or tri-color; the
blue and purple are the largest. Some of these are very beau-
tiful, with every grace of color or form one could desire in a
violet, but not one is fragrant. It seems strange, that with all
the dewy freshness and beauty of their kind, they should want
this charm of the violet of the Old World; but so it is. Still,
they are too pleasing and too common a flower to find fault with,
even though scentless. The European violet, however, is not
always fragrant ; some springs they are said to lose their odor
almost entirely ; the English violet, at least, which has been attrib-
uted to the dryness of the season. |

Our yellow varieties are great ornaments of the spring, and
very common, though not so abundant or large as the purple;
one kind, the earliest, grows in little companies of bright, golden

blossoms, which are often out before the leaves.

VIOLETS. "9

‘** Ere rural fields their green resume,
Sweet flower, I love in forest bare
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume
Alone is in the virgin air.”

Another is much larger, and grows singly.

The white are quite small, but singularly enough, one of these
is fragrant, though the perfume is not so exquisite as that of the
European violet; the sweet, white kind are sometimes gathered
as late as August. The tri-color is a large and solitary plant,
and I have known it fragrant, though it does not appear to be
always so. The violets of the Western Prairies are said to be
slightly fragrant, although the other flowers of that part of the
country have generally no perfume.

Friday, 19th.—Fine, bright weather. ‘The apple-trees are in
blossom—they opened last night by moonlight ; not one was in
flower yesterday, now the whole orchard is in bloom. The orioles
have been running over the fresh flowers all the morning, talk-
ing to each other, meanwhile, in their clear, full tones. Delight-
ful walk in the evening. We went down to the Great Meadow,
beyond Mill Island; the wood which borders it was gay with
the white blossoms of the wild cherries and June-berry, the wild
plum and the hobble-bush, all very common with us. The even-
ing air was delicately perfumed throughout the broad field, but
we could not discover precisely the cause of the fragrance, as
it did not seem stronger at one pomt than at another; it was
rather a medley of all sprig odors. The June-berry is slightly
fragrant, something like the thorn.

We found numbers of the white moose-flowers, the great petals

of the larger sorts giving them an importance which no other

80 RURAL HOURS.

early flower of the same date can claim. There are several vari-
eties of these flowers; they are quite capricious as regards color-
ing and size, some being as large as lilies, others not half that
size; many are pure white, others dark, others again are flushed
with pale pink, or lilac, while one kind, with white petals, is
marked about the heart with rich carmine tracery. Now you
find one pendulous, while another by its side bears its flowers
erect. Botanists call them all Zvrilliums, and a countrywoman
told me, the other day, they were all “ moose-flowers.” Each vari-
ety, however, has a scientific name of its own, and some are
called nightshades; others wake-robins, both names belonging
properly to very different plants. The true English wake-robin
is an arum. The difference in their fruit is remarkable. The
flowers, so much alike to the general observer, are succeeded by
berries of two distinct characters: some resemble the hips of
sweet-briar in color and size, though terminating in a sharp point;
others bear a dark, purple fruit, strongly ribbed, but rounded in
character. I have seen these as large as the common cherry.
But although very similar in their growth, leaves, and petals, the
hearts of the plants differ very materially, a very simple solution
of what at first strikes one as smgular. We found only the white
flowers, this evening, growing on the skirts of the field. It is rare
to meet them beyond the woods, as they disappear before culti-
vation; and these looked as though they had just stepped out of
the forest to take a peep at the world.

The border of an old wood is fine ground for flowers. The
soil is usually richer than common, while the sun is felt there
with greater power than farther within the shady bounds. One

is almost sure of findmg blossoms there at the night season. In

THE CAT-BIRD. 8]

such spots we also meet a mingled society of plants which it
is interesting to note. The wild natives of the woods grow there
willingly, while many strangers, brought originally from over the
Ocean, steal gradually onward from the tilled fields and gardens,
until at last they stand side by side upon the same bank, the
European weed and the wild native flower.

These foreign intruders are a bold and hardy race, driving
away the prettier natives. It is frequently remarked by elderly
persons familiar with the country, that our own wild flowers are
very much less common than they were forty years since. Some
varieties are diminishing rapidly. Flowers are described to us by
those on whom we can place implicit reliance, which we search
for, in vain, to-day. The strange pitcher-plant is said to have
been much more common, and the moccasin-flower abounded for-
merly even within the present limits of the village. Both are
now rare, and it is considered a piece of good luck to find them.
The fragrant azalea is also said to have colored the side-hills in
earlier times, on spots where they are now only found scattered
here and there.

Saturday, 20th.—The cat-birds are mewing about the grounds.
They have been here some little time, usually stealng upon us
unawares. They are as common here as elsewhere, and as par-
tial to the society of man. A pair of these birds built for several
successive years in an adjoining garden, and became quite fearless
and. familiar, always seeming pleased when the owner of the gar-
den appeared to work there, according to his custom, giving him
a song by way of greeting, and fluttering about close at hand as

long as he remained. Last year the family moved away, but we
4%

MINING:

89 RURAL HOURS.

od

still see the cat-birds on the same spot, quite at home. Whether

they are the same pair or not one cannot say.

| Some persons do not admire the cat-bird, on account of his
sober plumage; but the rich shaded grays of his coat strike us as
particularly pleasing, and his form is elegant. His cry, to be
sure, is odd enough for a bird, and sometimes when he repeats it
twenty times in succession in the course of half an hour, one feels

inclined to box his ears. It is the more provoking in him to in-

sult us in this way, because some of his notes, when he chooses,
are very musical—soft and liquid—as different as possible from
his harsh, grating cry. Like his cousin, the mocking-bird, he
often deserves a good shaking for his caprices, both belonging to
the naughty class of “birds who can sing, and won't sing,” ex-
cept when it suits their fancy.

The cat-bird is a great bather, like the goldfinch. He is said to
use the cast-off skins of snakes to line his nest, whenever he can find
them. He leaves us in October, and winters on the Gulf of Mexico.

Monday, 22d.—The apple-blossoms are charmingly fragrant
now ; they have certainly the most delightful perfume of all our
northern fruit-trees.
| The later forest-trees are coming into leaf; the black walnuts,
butternuts, sumachs, hickories, ashes, and locusts. ‘Trees with
| that kind of pimnated foliage seem to be later than others. The
locust is always the last to open its leaves; they are just begin-
ning to show, and a number of others, which partake of the same
character of foliage, have only preceded them by a week or so.
| The springs are all running beautifully clear and full now. Corn

planted to-day.

—-
|
|

EVERGREENS.—THE HEMLOCK. 83

Tuesday, 23d.—The small, yellow butterflies are fluttering

‘about. These are much the most numerous of their tribe; with

us among the earliest to appear in spring, and the latest to
retreat before the frosts in autumn.

Wednesday, 24th.—Warm and pleasant. The woods may now
be called in leaf, though the foliage is still a tender green, and
some of the leaves are not full-sized. The maples, however, so
numerous in our woods, have already acquired their deep, rich
summer verdure. The young shoots have started on the hem-
locks, each twig being tipped with tender green, a dozen shades
lighter than the rest of the foliage. These delicate light touches
are highly ornamental to the tree, and give it a peculiar beauty half
through the summer, for they take the darker shade very slowly.
The difference between the greens of the two years’ growth is
more striking on the hemlock than on any other evergreen re-
membered, at this moment, either the pine, the balsam, or the
Norway fir.

The hemlock spruce is a very common tree in this part of the
country, and an imposing evergreen, ranking in height with the
tallest oaks, and ashes, and elms of the forest. They are fre-
quently met with eighty feet high. The other day, walking in
the woods, we measured one which had just been felled, and it
proved a hundred and four feet in height, and three feet two
inches in diameter, without the bark. When young bushes, only
a few feet high, they are beautiful, especially when tipped with
the delicate green of the young spring shoots ; their horizontal
branches often sweeping the ground, look as though they had no
other object in view than to form beautiful shrubbery, very different

in this respect from the young pines, which have a determined up-

84. RURAL HOURS.

right growth from the first, betraying their ambition to become
trees as early as possible. The usual verdure of the hemlock is
very dark and glossy, lying in double rows flat upon the branches.
The younger spray often hangs in loose drooping tufts, and the
whole tree is more or less sprinkled with pretty little cones which
are very ornamental. As the hemlock grows older, it becomes
often irregular, dead limbs projecting here and there, well hung
with long drooping lichens of light green, which give it a vener-
able aspect. Altogether it is the most mossy tree we have.

Some of the hemlocks have a much closer and more compressed
upright growth than those commonly met with; so that one is
almost tempted to believe there are two distinct varieties. Near
the Red Brook, there is a young wood of these close-growing —
hemlocks, all having the same character; but I believe it only
accidental. Occasionally, but much more rarely, the same thing
is seen among the pines.

The hemlock is chiefly used here for tanning, the bark being
often stripped off from fine trees, which are then left to decay
standing. ‘The timber is sometimes used for joists. Since the
custom of making plank roads has commenced, the farmers are
beginning to look with more favor upon their hemlock-trees, as
this is the only wood used for the purpose, wherever it can be
procured. A vast amount of hemlock timber must have already
been worked up for our highways, and for paving village side-
walks ; and probably all that is left will soon be appropriated to
the same purposes. ‘Trees, sixteen inches in diameter, are now
selling in our neighborhood for a dollar a-piece standing, when
taken by the hundred. Pine-trees, standing, sell for five dollars,

although they often produce forty dollars worth of lumber. The

THE CORNEL AND MAY-STAR. 85

porcupine is said to have been very partial to the leaves and
bark of the hemlock for food.

Friday, 25th.—Beautiful day. The flowers are blooming in
throngs. Our spring garland becomes fuller and richer every day.
The white cool-wort* is mingled in light and airy tufts with the
blue and yellow violets. The low-cornel is opening ; its cups are
greenish now, but they will soon bleach to a pure white. The
elegant silvery May-star is seen here and there; by its side the
tall, slender mitella, while warm, rose-colored gay-wings are lying
among the mosses, and each of these flowers has an interest for
those who choose to make their acquaintance.

Who at first glance would think that the low-cornel, growing
searce half a span high, is cousin-german to the dogwood, which
boasts the dignity of a tree? A most thrifty little plant it is,
making a pretty white flower of its outer cup—which in most
plants is green—and after this has fallen, turning its whole heart
to fruit; for wherever we now see one of the simple white blos-
soms in its whorl of large green leaves, there we shall find, in
August, a cluster of good-sized scarlet berries. I have counted
sixteen of these in one bunch, looking like so many coral beads.
Although each plant stands singly, they are very freely scattered
about the wood, a hardy plant, growing far to the northward
wherever pine-trees are found.

The May-star} is remarkable for its elegance, a delicate star-like
blossom of the purest white standing like a gem in a setting of
leaves, fine in texture and neatly cut. Some persons call this

chick wintergreen, a name which is an insult to the plant, and

* Trarela Cordifelia. + Trientalis Americana.

86 RURAL HOURS.

to the common sense of the community. Why, it is one of the
daintiest wood-flowers, with nothing in the world to do with
chicks, or weeds, or winter. It is not the least of an evergreen,
its leaves withering in autumn, as a matter of course, and there is

not a chicken in the country that knows it by sight or taste. Dis-

criminating people, when they find its elegant silvery flower grow-

ing in the woods beside the violet, call it May-star; and so should
everybody who sees it.
The cool-wort grows in patches upon many banks within the

| woods, or near them. It is a very pretty flower from its light

airy character, and the country people employ its broad, violet-
shaped leaves for healing purposes. They lay them, freshly
gathered, on scalds and burns, and, like all domestic receipts of
the sort, they never fail of course, but “work like a charm ;”
that is to say, as charms worked some hundred years ago. It is
the leaves only that are used in this way, and we have seen per-
sons who professed to have been much benefited by them.

| The slender mitella, or fringe-cup, or false sanicle—one does
not like a false name for a flower—hangs its tiny white cups at
intervals on a tall, slender, two-leaved stalk; a pretty, unpretend-
ing little thing, which scatters its black seeds very early in the
season. It is one of the plants we have in common with Northern
Asia,

As for the May-wings,* or “ gay-wings,” they are in truth one of

the gayest little blossoms we have; growing low as they do, and
many of their winged flowers together, you might fancy them

so many warm lilac, or deep rose-colored butterflies resting on

* Polygalia Panctfolia.

THE GRACE OF FLOWERS. 87

the mosses. They are bright, cheerful little flowers, seldom
found singly, but particularly social in their habits; twin blos-
soms very often grow on the same stalk, and at times you find
as many as four or five; we have occasionally gathered clusters
of a dozen or eighteen blossoms in one tuft, upon three or four
stalks. ‘They bloom here in profusion on the borders of the woods,
by the road-side, and in some fields; we found them a day or
two since, mingled with the dandelions, in a low meadow by the
river; but they are especially fond of growing among the mosses,
the most becoming position they could choose, their warmly-col-
ored flowers lying in brilliant relief upon the dark rich ground-
work. ow beautiful is this exquisite native grace of the flowers,
seen in all their habits and positions! They know nothing of
vanity, its trivial toils and triumphs! In unconscious, spontane-
ous beauty, they live their joy-giving lives, and yet how all but
impossible for man to add to their perfection in a single point!
In their habits of growth, this imnate grace may be particularly
observed ; there is a unity, a fitness, in the individual character
of each plant to be traced most closely, not only in form, or leaf,
and stem, but also in the position it chooses, and all the various
accessories of its brief existence. It is this that gives to the field
and wood flowers a charm beyond those of the garden. Pass
through the richest and most brilliant parterre in the country,
with every advantage which labor, expense, science, and thought
can bestow, and you will find there no one plant that is not shorn
of some portion of its native grace, a penalty which it pays for the
honors of culture. They are richer perhaps, more gorgeous, the
effect of the whole is more striking, but singly, they are not so
wholly beautiful. Go out in the month of May and June into the

88 RURAL HOURS.

nearest fields and groves, and you shall see there a thousand sweet
plants, sowed by the gracious hand of Providence, blooming amid
the common grass, in crevices of rude rocks, beside the trickling
springs, upon rough and shaggy banks, with a freedom and a
simple modest grace which must ever be the despair of gardeners,
since it is quite inimitable by art, with all its cunning.

Saturday, 26th.—Charming day ; walked in the woods. Acci-
dentally breaking away a piece of decayed wood from the dead
trunk of a tree, we found a snake coiled within; it seemed to
be torpid, for it did not move; we did, however—retreating at
once, not caring to make a nearer acquaintance with the creature.

There are not many snakes in the neighborhood; one seldom
sees them either in the fields or the woods, though occasionally
they cross our path. ‘The most common are the harmless little
garter snakes, with now and then a black-snake. Not long since,
the workmen at the Cliffs were making a road, and two of them
taking up a log to move it, a large black-snake, astonished to
find his dwelling in motion, came hurrying out; he was said to
have been three or four feet in length. But I have never yet
heard of any persons being injured by a snake in this neighbor-
hood ; most of these creatures are quite harmless—indeed, of the
sixteen varieties found in the State, only two are venomous, the
copper-head and the rattlesnake.

There is a mountain in the county, the Crumhorn, where rat-
tlesnakes formerly abounded, and where they are said to be still
found, but fortunately, these dangerous reptiles are of a very
sluggish nature, and seldom stray from the particular locality
which suits their habits, and where they are generally very nu-

merous. An instance is on record, quoted by Dr. De Kay, in

ROW ON THE LAKE. 89

which three men, who went upon Tongue Mountain, on Lake
George, for the purpose of hunting rattlesnakes, destroyed in
two days eleven hundred and four of these venomous creatures !
They are taken for their fat, which is sold at a good price.

We found this afternoon a very pretty little butterfly, pink and
yellow ; it seemed to be quite young, and scarcely in full posses-
sion of its powers yet; we thought it a pity to interfere with its

happy career, but just begun, and left it unharmed as we found it.

‘* 'Thus the fresh clarion, being readie dight,
Unto his journey did himself addresse,
And with good speed began to take his flight
Over the fields in his frank lustinesse ;
And all the champaine o’er he soared light,
And all the country wide he did possesse 3
Feeding upon his pleasures bounteouslie,

That none gainsaid, nor none did him envie.”

Monday, 28th.—Cloudy day. Pleasant row on the lake. The
country, as seen from the water, looked charmingly, decked in
the flowery trophies of May. Many of the fruit-trees are still
in blossom in the orchards and gardens, while the wild cherries
and plums were drooping over the water in many spots. The
evening was perfectly still, not a breath to ruffle the lake, and
the soft spring character of the hills and fields, bright with their
young verdure, had stolen over the waters. Swallows were skim-
ming about busily. We met several boats; one of them, filled
with little girls in their colored sun-bonnets, and rowed by an

elder boy, looked gayly as it passed. We landed and gathered

90 RURAL HOURS.

the singular flower of the dragon arum, or Indian turnip, as the
country folk call it, violets also, and a branch of wild cherry.

Tuesday, 29th.—Among all the varieties of birds flitting about
our path during the pleasant months, there is not one which is a
more desirable neighbor than the house-wren. Coming early in
spring, and going late in autumn, he is ready at any time, the
season through, to give one a song. Morning, noon, or evening, in
the moonshine, or under a cloudy sky, he sings away out of pure
joyousness of heart. They are pretty little creatures, too, nicely
colored, and very delicate in their forms. For several summers
we had a nest built under the eaves of a low roof projecting
within a few feet of a window, and many a time our little friend,
perched on a waving branch of the Virginia creeper, would sing
his sweetest song, while the conversation within doors was hushed
to hear him. His return has been anxiously watched for, this
spring, but in vain. If in the neighborhood, he no longer builds
in the same spot.

But the wrens have many merits besides their prettiness and
their sweet voice. They are amusing, cheerful little creatures,
and they are very true-hearted, moreover. The parents are par-
ticularly attentive to each other, and kind to their family, which
is a large one, for they raise two broods during the summer.
Unlike other birds, they do not discard their children, but keep
an eye on the first set, while making ready for the younger ones.
Nor are the young birds themselves eager to run off and turn
rovers ; they all live together in little family parties through the
season, and im autumn you frequently see them in this way, eight
or ten together, feeding on the haws of the thorn-bushes, of

which they are very fond.

7 3

WRENS.—MANDRAKES. 91

He is a very great builder, also, is the wren. He seems to
think, like that famous old Countess of yore, Bess of Shrewsbury,
that he is doomed to build for his life. Frequently while his mate
is sitting, he will build you several useless nests, just for his own
gratification ; singing away all the time, and telling his more
patient mate, perhaps, what straws he picks up, and where he

finds them. Sometimes, when he first arrives, if not already

mated, he will build his house, and then look out for a wife after-
wards. It is a pity they should not stay with us all winter, these
pleasant little friends of ours, like the European wren, who never

migrates, and sings all the year round. It is true, among the

half dozen varieties which visit us, there is the winter wren, who
remains during the cold weather in some parts of the State; but
we do not see him here after the snow has fallen, and at best he
appears much less musical than the summer bird. Our common |
house-wren is a finer singer than the European bird; but he flies
far to the southward, in winter, and sings Spanish m Mexico and
South America. It is quite remarkable that this common bird,
the house-wren, though passing North and South every year,
should be unknown in Louisiana; yet Mr. Audubon tells us such

is the case.

The mandrakes, or May-apples, are in flower. They are cer-
tainly a handsome plant, as their showy white flower is not unlike
the water-lily. Some people eat their fruit—boys especially—but
most persons find it insipid. This common showy plant growing
along our fences, and in many meadows, is said also to be found
under a different variety in the hilly countries of Central Asia. One
likes to trace these links, connecting lands and races, so far apart,

reminding us, as they do, that the earth is the common home of all.

92 RURAL HOURS.

Thursday, 30th.—The springs are all full to overflowing, this
season. Some tricklmg down the hill-sides, through the shady
woods, many more sparkling in the open sunshine of the meadows.
Happily for us, they flow freely here. We forget to value justly a
blessing with which we are so richly endowed, until we hear of
other soils, and that within the limits of our own country, too, where
the thristy traveller and his weary beast count it a piece of good
fortune to find a pure wholesome draught at the close of their
day’s toil.

This is decidedly a sprmg county. Mineral waters of power-
ful medicinal qualities are scattered about within a circuit of
twenty miles from the lake. There are several within the limits
of the village itself, but these have little strength. Others farther
off have long been used for their medicinal properties—vile messes
to taste—and sending up an intolerable stench of sulphur, but
beautifully clear and cool. There is a salt spring also at no great
distance from the lake, said to be the most easterly of the saline
springs in this part of the country, and at a distance of some
eighty miles from the great salt works of Onondaga.

A portion of our waters are hard, touched with the limestone,
through which they find their way to the surface; but there are
many more possessing every good quality that the most particu-
lar housewife can desire for cooking her viands, or bleaching her
linen. Near the farm-house doors you frequently see them fall-
ing from a wooden pipe into a trough, hollowed out of the trunk
of a tree, the rudest of fountains; and the same arrangement is
made here and there, along the highway, for the benefit of the
traveller and his cattle.

One likes to come upon a spring in a walk. This afternoon we

THE RED MAN. 93

were seldom out of sight of one. We counted more than a dozen
distinct fountain-heads within a distance of a mile. One filled a
clear, sandy pool, on level grassy ground, near the bank of the
river; another, within the forest, lay in a little rocky basin, lined
with last year’s leaves; another fell in full measure over a dark
cliff, moistening a broad space of the rock, which, in winter, it
never fails to cover with a sheet of frost-work. More than one
lay among the roots of the forest trees; and others, again, kept us
company on the highway, running clear and bubbling through the
ditches by the road-side. ‘There is a quiet beauty about them all
which never fails to give pleasure. ‘There is a grace in their
purity—in their simplicity—which is soothing to the spirit; and,
perhaps among earth’s thousand voices, there is none other so
sweetly humble, so lowly, yet so cheerful, as the voice of the
gentle springs, passing on their way to fill our daily cup.

When standing beside these unfettered springs in the shady
wood, one seems naturally to remember the red man; recollec-
tions of his vanished race linger there in a more definite form
than elsewhere ; we feel assured that by every fountain among
these hills, the Indian brave, on the hunt or the war-path, must
have knelt ten thousand times, to slake his thirst, and the wild
creatures, alike his foes and his companions, the tawny panther,
the clumsy bear, the timid deer and the barking wolf, have all
lapped these limpid waters durmg the changing seasons of past
ages. Nay, it is quite possible there may still be springs in re-
mote spots among the hills of this region, yet untasted by the
white man and his flocks, where the savage and the beast of prey
were the last who drank. And while these recollections press

upon us, the flickermg shadows of the wood seem to assume the

94 RURAL HOURS.

forms of the wild creatures which so lately roamed over these
hills, and we are half persuaded that the timid doe or the wily
catamount is again drawing near to drink from the fountain at
our feet—we hear the crash of a dry branch, or the rustling of
leaves, and we start as though expecting to see the painted war-
rior, armed with flint-headed arrows and tomahawk of stone, glid-

ing through the wood toward us. It was but yesterday that
such beings peopled the forest, bemgs with as much of life as

runs within our own veins, who drank their daily draught from the
springs we now call our own; yesterday they were here, to-day
scarce a vestige of their existence can be pointed out among us.
Friday, 31st.—Thunder-shower this afternoon, everything grow-
ing finely. ‘The blackberry-bushes, very common here, are com-
ing into flower along the road-sides and fences. The white thorn
is also blooming; there is a rustic elegance about its clusters
which leads one readily to admit its claims as a favorite of the
poets—the form of this flower is so simple, and the colored heads
of the stamens are so daintily pretty; it has been opening for
several days, and many of the bushes, or trees rather, are in full
flower. In this hilly climate, it blossoms late, still it saves its
credit as the flower of May; in the rural districts of England,
“the May” is said to be a common name for the hawthorn.
Walked about the shrubbery with the hope of finding a rose
open, but our search was fruitless. Last year a few of the early
kind bloomed in May, but the present season is more backward.
With us, the roses scarcely belong to spring, we should rather
date our summer from their unfolding; the bushes were never
more full of buds, however, and some of these are beginning to

disclose their coloring; but the greater number are still closely

THE BEAUTY OF THE ROSE. 95

shut within their fringed cups. Later m the season, we become
critical—we reject the full-blown flower for the half-open bud,
but just now we are eager to feast our eyes upon a rose—a true,
perfect rose—with all her beauties opening to the light, all her
silken petals unfolding in rich profusion about her fragrant heart.

SUMMER.

Friday, June 1st.—Beautiful day. Pleasant walk. The whole
country is green at this moment, more so than at any other period
of the year. The earth is completely decked in delicate verdure
of varied shades: the fruit-trees have dropped their blossoms,
and the orchards and gardens are green; the forest has just put
on its fresh foliage, the meadows are yet uncolored by the flowers,
and the young grain-fields look grassy still. This fresh green
hue of the country is very charming, and with us it is very fugi-
tive, soon passing away into the warmer coloring of midsummer.

The cedar-birds have been very troublesome among the fruit
blossoms, and they are still haunting the gardens. As they
always move in flocks, except for a very short period when busy
with their young, they leave their mark on every tree they attack,
whether in fruit or flower. We saw them last week scattering
the petals in showers, to get at the heart of the blossom, which,
of course, destroys the young fruit. ‘They are very much their
own enemies in this way, for no birds are greater fruit-eaters than

themselves; they are even voracious feeders when they find a

‘berry to their taste, actually destroying themselves, at times, by

the numbers they swallow.

There are two closely-allied varieties of this bird, very similar

a

98 RURAL HOURS.

in general appearance and character, one coming from the ex-
treme north, while the other is found within the tropics. Both,
however, meet on common ground in the temperate regions of
our own country. The larger sort—the Bohemian wax-wing—is
well known in Europe, though’ so irregular in its flights, that in
former times its visits were looked upon by superstitious people
as the forerunner of some public calamity. Until lately, this
bird was supposed to be unknown on the Western continent; but
closer observation has shown that it is found here, within our own
State, where it is said to be increasing. It bears a strong gen-
eral resemblance to the cedar-bird, though decidedly larger, and
differently marked in some points. It is supposed to breed very
far north in arctic countries. Both birds are crested, and both
have a singular appendage to their wings, little red, wax-like, tips
at the extremity of their secondary wing-feathers. These vary in
number, and are not found on all individuals, but they are quite
peculiar to themselves. The habits of the two varieties are, in
many respects, similar: they are both berry-eaters, very gregari-
ous in their habits, and particularly affectionate in their disposi-
tions toward one another; they crowd as near together as pos-
sible, half a dozen often sitting side by side on the same branch,
caressing one another, and even feeding one another out of pure
. friendliness. They have been called chatterers inthe Old World,
but in fact they are very silent birds, though fussy and active,
which perhaps made people fancy they were chatty creatures also.
The Bohemian wax-wing is rather rare, even in Europe; and
yet it is believed that a small flock were in our own neighborhood
this spring. On two different occasions we remarked what seemed

very large cedar-birds without the white line about the eye, and

WALK IN THE WOODS. 99

with a white stripe on the wings; but they were im a thicket both
times, and not being at liberty to stay and watch them, it would
not do to assert positively that these were the Bohemian wax-
wing. Learned ornithologists, with a bird in the hand, have some-
times made great_ mistakes on such matters, and, of course, un-
learned people should be very modest in expressing an opinion,
especially where, instead of one bird in the hand, they can only
point to two ina bush. As for the cedar-birds, everybody knows
them; they are common enough throughout the country, and are
also abundant in Mexico. ‘They are sold in the markets of our large
towns, in the autumn and spring, for two or three cents a piece.
Saturday, 2d.—Cloudy morning, followed by a charming af-
ternoon. Long walk. Took a by-read which led us over the
hills to a wild spot, where, in a distance of two or three miles,
there is only one mhabited house, and that stands on the border
of a gloomy swamp, from which the wood has been cut away,
while two or three deserted log-cabins along the road only make
things look more desolate. We enjoyed the walk all the more,
however, for its wild, rude character, so different from our every-
day rambles. Passed several beautiful springs in the borders of
the unfenced woods, and saw several interesting birds. A hand-
some Clape, or golden-winged woodpecker, a pretty wood-pewce,
and a very delicate little black-poll warbler, this last rare, and
entirely confined to the forest; it was hopping very leisurely
among the flowery branches of a wild cherry, and we had an ex-
cellent opportunity of observing it, for on that wild spot it was
not on the look-out for human enemies, and we approached, un-
observed, placing ourselves behind a bush. These three birds

are all peculiar to our part of the world.

100 RURAL HOURS.

—

The rude fences about several fields in these new lands were
prettily bordered with the Canadian violet, white and lilac; the
chinks and hollows of several old stumps were also well garnished
with these flowers; one does not often see so many together.

Upon one of these violets we found a handsome colored spi-
der, one of the kind that live on flowers and take their color from
them; but this was unusually large. Its body was of the size
of a well-grown pea, and of a bright lemon color; its legs were
also yellow, and altogether it was one of the most showy colored
spiders we have seen ina long time. Scarlet, or red ones still larger,
are found, however, near New York. But, in their gayest aspect,
these creatures are repulsive. It gives one a chilling idea of the
gloomy solitude of a prison, when we remember that spiders have
actually been petted by men shut out from better companionship.
They are a very common insect with us, and on that account
more annoying than any other that is found here. Some of them,
with great black bodies, are of a formidable size. These haunt
cellars, and barns, and churches, and appear occasionally in in-
habited rooms. ‘There is a black spider of this kind, with a body
said to be an inch long, and legs double that length, found in the
Palace of Hampton Court, in England, which, it will be remembered,
belonged to Cardinal Wolsey, and these great creatures are called
“Cardinals” there, bemg considered by some people as peculiar
to that building. A huge spider, by-the-bye, with her intricate
web and snares, would form no bad emblem of a courtier and
diplomatist, of the stamp of Cardinal Wolsey. . He certainly took
“hold with his hands, in kings’ palaces,” and did his share of
mischief there.

Few people like spiders. No doubt these insects must have

THE SPIDER. 101

their merits and their uses, since none of God’s creatures are
made in vain; all living things are endowed with instincts more
or less admirable; but the spider’s plotting, creeping ways, and a
sort of wicked expression about him, lead one to dislike him as a
near neighbor. In a battle between a spider and a fly, one al-
ways sides with the fly, and yet of the two, the last is certainly
the most troublesome insect to man. But the fly is frank and
free in all his doings; he seeks his food openly, and he pursues
his pastimes openly ; suspicions of others or covert designs against
them are quite unknown to him, and there is something almost
confiding in the way in which he sails around you, when a single
stroke of your hand might destroy him. The spider, on the con-
trary, lives by snares and plots; he is at the same time very
designing and very suspicious, both cowardly and fierce; he al-
ways moves stealthily, as though among enemies, retreating before
the least appearance of danger, solitary and morose, holding no
communion with his fellows. His whole appearance corresponds
with this character, and it is not surprising, therefore, that while
the fly is more mischievous to us than the spider, we yet look
upon the first with more favor than the last; for it is a natural
impulse of the human heart to prefer that which is open and con-
fiding to that which is wily and suspicious, even in the brute
creation. The cunning and designing man himself will, at times,
find a feeling of respect and regard for the guileless and gen-
erous stealing over him, his heart, as it were, giving the lie to his
life.

Some two or three centuries since, when people came to this
continent from the Old World in search of gold, oddly enough,

it was considered a good sign of success when they met with

102 RURAL HOURS.

spiders! It would be difficult to say why they cherished this
fancy ; but according to that old worthy, Hakluyt, when Martin
Frobisher and his party landed on Cumberland Island, in quest of
gold, their expectations were much increased by finding there
numbers of spiders, “which, as many affirm, are signes of great
store of gold.” ,

They fancied that springs also were abundant near minerals, so
that we may, in this county, cherish great hopes of a mine—if
we choose.

Monday, 4th.—Very warm yesterday and to-day. Thermometer
83 in the shadeatnoon. Walkedin the evening. The corn-fields
are now well garnished with scare-crows, and it is amusing to see
the different devices employed for the purpose. Bits of tin hung
upon upright sticks are very general; lines of white twine, crossing
the field at intervals near the soil, are also much in favor, and the
crows are said to be particularly shy of this sort of network;
other fields are guarded by a number of little whirligig wind-
mills. One large field that we passed evidently belonged to a
man of great resources in the way of expedients; for, among a __
number of contrivances, no two were alike: im one spot, large as
life, stood the usual man of straw, here was a tin pan on a pole,
there a sheet was flapping its full breadth in the breeze, here was
a straw hat on a stick, there an old flail, in one corner a broken
tin Dutch oven elittered in the sunshine, and at right angles with
it was a tambourme! It must needs be a bold crow that will

venture to attack such a camp.* It is strange how soon these crea-

* This field yielded ninety-three bushels of maize to the acre the following

autumn.

SCARE-CROWS. 103
tures find out where maize has been planted. For two or three
weeks, at this season, they are very troublesome until the grain
has outgrown its seed character, and taken root. They do not
seem to attack other grains much ;—at least, scare-crows are never
seen in other fields.

The chipmucks, or ground-squirrels, are also very mischievous
in the maize-fields; and the blue-jay follows the: same bad ex-
ample occasionally. In autumn, the king-birds, in addition to
the others, attack the ripe grain also, so that the maize has many
enemies.

A thunder-shower passed over the village in the afternoon, and
in the course of an hour the thermometer fell 20 degrees.

Tuesday, 5th.—Charming, cloudless day; fresh air from the
west rustling among the new leaves. Stroll in the woods; flow-
ers blooming abundantly. The wood betony, with its yellow
heads, makes quite a show this season; there is more of it than
usual, and it is quite ornamental on that account.

The different varieties of Solomon’s seal—all elegant plants—
are now in bloom. The wise King of Israel must have set his
stamp upon many roots in these western forests; for the flowers
of the tribe are very numerous here, especially the false spike-
nard, the delicate two-leaved Solomon’s seal, or bead-ruby, and
the Clintonia, with yellow lily-like flowers and large blue berries.
The tufted convallaria bifolia, or bead-ruby, is one of our most
common wood plants, very much like that of Europe, although
the flowerets are larger. It is smgularly slow in the progress of
its fruit. The cluster of berries forms early in June, but requires
all summer to ripen; at first they are green and opaque, like wax ;

then, in July, they become speckled with red; in August the

104 RURAL HOURS.

spots spread, and the whole berry is red; and, later still, in Sep-
tember, it takes a beautiful ruby color, and is nearly transparent ;
in which condition we have seen them as late as the first of De-
cember. ‘The false spikenard goes through much the same pro-
cess, but its fruit is more frequently blasted, and the name of
bead-ruby is here confined to the smaller two-leaved plant. The
pretty little lily of the valley, that charming flower of the
gardens, grows wild in the Southern Alleghanies, but it is
not found among the plants of these northernmost ridges of the
chain.

We were walking in a beautiful grove where the wood had
been only partially cleared, leaving many fine trees standing, min-
gled with the stumps of others long since felled. The mossy
roots of these mouldering old stumps are choice places for the
early flowers; one often finds the remains of an old oak, or pine,
or chestnut, encircled by a beautiful border of this kind, mosses
and flowers blended together in a way which art can never equal.
During many successive springs, we have been in the habit of
watching the flowers as they unfold upon these mossy hillocks.
As usual, they are now daintily sprinkled with blossoms, for the
soil is rich as possible in such spots. We amused ourselves with
counting the different kinds of flowers growing on several of these
little knolls. In one instance, we found fifteen different plants,
besides the grasses, in a narrow circle about the swelling roots,
six or eight feet in breadth; around another we counted eighteen
varieties ; another showed twenty-two; and a fourth had six-and-
twenty kinds. The groundwork is usually made up of mosses of
three or four varieties and shades, all very beautiful, and blended

with these are the silvery leaves of the pearly everlastings. Vio-

WEEDS. 105

lets, blue, white, and yellow, grow there, with rosy gay-wings,*
cool-wort, fairy-cup, or mitella, low-cornel, May-star, strawberry,
dew-drop, bead-ruby, squaw-vine, partridge-plant, pipsissiwa,
pyrolas, loose-strife, ground-laurel, innocence, Michaelmas-daisies
of several kinds, perhaps the coptis, or gold-thread, and three or
four ferns. Such are the plants often found in these wild, posy
patches, about old stumps, in half-cleared woods. Of course,
they are not all in flower together; but toward the prime of the
spring, one may at times find nearly a dozen kinds in blossom at
the same moment. These are all native plants, gathering, as if
out of affection, about the roots of the fallen forest trees.

Wednesday, 6th.—Coolish this mornmg. Chilly people have
lighted their parlor fires. Last year we had strawberries the 6th
of June, but the present season is more backward. Good walk-
ing weather to-day.

It is a pleasing part of the elegance of May, in a temperate
climate, that few of the coarser weeds show themselves during
that month; or, rather, at that early day, they do not appear in
their true character. They are, of course, very troublesome to
gardeners from the first, but they do not then obtrude themselves
upon general attention. The season advances with great rapidity,
however, and already these rude plants are beginning to show
themselves in the forms by which we know them. The burdock
and nettle, and thistle, &c., &c., are growing too plentifully under

fences, and in waste spots; chickweed and purslane, &c., &c.,

* Gay-wings, Poly-gala paucifolia; Cool-wort, Tiarella cordofolia; Fairy-cup,
Mitella dyphylla; May-star, Trientalis Americana; Bead-ruby, Convallaria
bifolia; Squaw-vine, Mitchella repens; Partridge plant, Gualtheria; Dew-drop,
Dalibaraa.

5x

106 RURAL HOURS.

spring up in the paths and beds so freely and so boldly, that it is
the chief labor of the month to wage war upon their tribe.

It is remarkable that these troublesome plants have come very
generally from the Old World; they do not belong here, but fol-
lowing the steps of the white man, they have crossed the ocean
with him. <A very large proportion of the most common weeds
in our fields and gardens, and about our buildings, are strangers
to the soil. It will be easy to name’ a number of these :—such,
for instance, as the dock and the burdock, found about every
barn and outbuilding ; the common plaintains and mallows—reg-
ular path-weeds; the groundsel, purslane, pigweed, goose-foot,
shepherd’s-purse, and lamb’s-quarters, so troublesome in gardens ;

the chickweed growing everywhere; the prinpernel, celandine,

and knawel ; the lady’s thumb and May-weed ; the common nettles

and teazel; wild flax, stickseed, burweed, doorweed; all the mul-
leins ;. the most pestilent thistles, both the common sort and that
which is erroneously called the Canada thistle ; the sow thistles ;
the chess, corn-cockle, tares, bugloss, or blue-weed, and the pigeon-
weed of the grain-fields ; the darnel, yarrow, wild parsnip, ox-eye
daisy, the wild garlick, the acrid buttercup, and the acrid St.
John’s wort of the meadows; the nightshades, Jerusalem arti-
choke, wild radish, wild mustard, or charlock, the poison hemlock,
the henbane,—ay, even the very dandelion,* a plant which we
tread under foot at every turn. Others still might be added to
the list, which were entirely unknown to the red man, having
been introduced by the European race, and are now choking
up all our way-sides, forming the vast throng of foreign weeds.

Some of these have come from a great distance, travelling

* Dr. Torrey.

WEEDS. 107

round the world. The shepherd’s-purse, with others, is com-
mon in China, on the most eastern coast of Asia. One kind of
mallows belongs to the East Indies; another to the coast of
the Mediterranean. The gimson weed, or Datura, is an Abys-
sinian plant, and the Nicandra came from Peru. It is supposed
that the amaranths or greenweeds, so very common here, have
also been introduced, though possibly only from the more south-
ern parts of our own country.

Some few American plants have been also carried to Europe,
where they have become naturalized ; but the number is very small.
The evening primrose, and the silkweed, among others, have
sowed themselves in some parts of the Old World, transported,
no doubt, with the tobacco, and maize, and potato, which are
now so widely diffused over the Eastern continent, to the very
heart of Asia. But even at home, on our own soil, the amount of
native weeds is small when compared with the throngs brought
from the Old World. The wild cucumber, a very troublesome
plant, the great white convolvolus, the dodder, the field sorrel,
the pokeweed, the silkweed, with one or two plantains and thistles,
of the rarer kinds, are among the most important of those whose
origin is clearly settled as belonging to this continent. It is also
singular that among those tribes which are of a divided nature,
some being natives, others introduced, the last are generally the -
most numerous; for instance, the native chickweeds, and plan-
tains, and thistles, are less common here than the European
varieties.

There are other naturalized plants frequent in neglected spots,
about farm-houses, and along road-sides, which have already be-

come so common as to be weeds; the simples and medicinal herbs,

108 RURAL HOURS.

used for ages by the goodwives of England and Holland, were early
brought over, and have very generally become naturalized,—
catnip, mint, horehound, tansy, balm, comfrey, elecampane, &c.,
&c.,—immediately take root, spreading far and wide wherever
they are allowed to grow. It is surprising how soon they become
firmly established in a new settlement ; we often observe them in
this new county apart from any dwellng. At times we have
found them nearly a mile from either garden or house. The
seeds of naturalized plants seem, in many cases, to have floated
across our lake upon the water; for we have found the European
mint and catnip growing with the blue gentian immediately on
the banks where the woods spread around in every direction for
some distance.

The word weed varies much with circumstances; at times, we
even apply it to the beautiful flower or the useful herb. A plant
_ may be a weed, because it is noxious, or fetid, or unsightly, or
troublesome, but it is rare indeed that all these faults are united
in one individual of the vegetable race. Often the unsightly,
or fetid, or even the poisonous plant, is useful, or it may be in-
teresting from some peculiarity; and on the other hand, many
others, troublesome from their numbers, bear pleasing flowers,
taken singly. Upon the whole, it is not so much a natural de-
fect which marks the weed, as a certain impertinent, intrusive
character in these plants; a want of modesty, a habit of shoving
themselves forward upon ground where they are not needed, root-
ing themselves in soil intended for better things, for plants more
useful, more fragrant, or more beautiful. Thus the corn-cockle
bears a fine flower, not unlike the mullein-pink of the garden, but

then it springs up among the precious wheat, taking the place

WEEDS. 109

of the grain, and it is a weed; the flower of the thistle is hand-
some in itself, but it is useless, and it pushes forward in throngs
by the way-side until we are weary of seeing it, and everybody
makes war upon it; the common St. John’s wort, again, has a
pretty yellow blossom, and it has its uses also as a simple, but it
is injurious to the cattle, and yet it is so obstinately tenacious of
a place among the grasses, that it is found in every meadow, and
we quarrel with it as a weed.

These noxious plants have come unbidden to us, with the grains
and grasses of the Old World, the evil with the good, as usual
in this world of probation—the wheat and tares together. The
useful plants produce a tenfold blessing upon the labor of man,
but the weed is also there, ever accompanying his steps, to teach
him a lesson of humility. Certain plants of this nature—the
dock, thistle, nettle, &c., &c.-—are known to attach themselves
especially to the path of man; in widely different soils and cli-
mates, they are still found at his door. Patient care and toil can
alone keep the evil within bounds, and it seems doubtful whether
it lies within the reach of human means entirely to remove from
the face of the earth one single plant of this peculiar nature, much
less all their varieties. Has any one, even of the more noxious
sorts, ever been utterly destroyed? Agriculture, with all the
pride and power of science now at her command, has apparently
accomplished but little in this way. Egypt and China are said to
be countries in which weeds are comparatively rare ; both regions
have long been in a high state of cultivation, filled to overflowing
with a hungry population, which neglects scarce a rood of the soil,
and yet even in those lands, even upon the banks of the Nile, where

the crops succeed each other without any interval throughout the »

110 RURAL HOURS.

whole year, leaving no time for weeds to extend themselves ; even
there, these noxious plants are not unknown, and the moment the
soil is abandoned, only for a season, they return with renewed
vigor.

In this new country, with a fresh soil, and a thinner population,
we have not only weeds innumerable, but we observe, also, that
briers and brambles seem to acquire double strength in the neigh-
borhood of man; we meet them in the primitive forest, here and
there, but they lme our reads and fences, and the woods are no
sooner felled to make ready for cultivation, than they sprmg up
in profusion, the first natural produce of the soil. But in this
world of mercy, the just curse is ever graciously tempered with a
blessing ; many a grateful fruit, and some of our most delightful
flowers, grow among the thorns and briers, their fragrance and
excellence reminding man of the sweets as well as the toils of his
task. The sweet-briar, more especially, with its simple flower
and delightful fragrance, unknown in the wilderness, but moving
onward by the side of the ploughman, would seem, of all others,
the husbandman’s blossom. |

Thursday, 7th.—There was an alarm of frost last evening, and
cautious people covered their tender plants, but no harm was
done. It happens frequently, that late in May or early in June,
we have a return of cool weather for a day or two, with an alarm
about frost, at a very critical moment, when all our treasures are
lying exposed; some seasons, much mischief is done to the gar-
dens and crops, but frequently the alarm passes over and we are
spared the evil. It seldom happens, even after heavy frosts at
such unseasonable times, that the blight is half as severe as peo-

ple at first suppose; things usually turn out much better than

PINXTER BLUMEJIES. lll

our fears, the plants reviving and yielding a portion of their fruits,
if not.a full crop. Happily, this year we have had nothing of
the kind—the cool moment came earlier—before vegetation was
sufficiently advanced to be injured. To-day the air is very pleas-
ant and summer-like.

Walked on Hannah’s Height; gathered azaleas in abundanee ;
they are in their prime now, and very beautiful ; we have known
them, however, to blossom three weeks earlier. Our Dutch an-
cestors used to call these flowers Pinzter Blumejes, from their
being usually in bloom about Whit-Sunday; under this name,
they figured annually at the great holyday of the negroes, held
in old colonial times at Albany and New Amsterdam. The blacks
were allowed full liberty te frolic, for several days in Whitsun-
week, and they used to hold a fair, building booths, which they
never failed to ornament with the Pinater Blumejies. The flowers
are very abundant this year, and their deep rose-colored clusters
seem to light up the shady woods.

We were in good luck, for we found also a little troop of moc-
casin plants in flower; frequently, the season has passed without
our seeing one, but this afternoon we gathered no less than eigh-
teen of the purple kind, the Cyprepedium acaule of botanists.
The small yellow, the large yellow, and the showy ladyslipper
have also been found here, but they are all becoming more rare. |

Friday, 8th.—Rainy morning. It appears that yesterday we
missed a fine sight: about dawn it was foggy; a large flock of
wild pigeons passing over the valley, became bewildered in the
mist, and actually alighted in the heart of the village, which we
have never known them to do before. The trees in the church-

yard, those in our own grounds, and several other gardens, were

112 RURAL HOURS.

loaded with them; unfortunately, no one in the house was aware
of their visit at the time. At that early hour, the whole village
was quiet, and only a few persons saw them. They were not
molested, and remained some little time, fluttering about the trees,
or settling on them in large parties. When the fog rose, they |
took flight again. What a pity to have missed so unusual a
sight !

Saturday, 9th.—Charming day. Pleasant row on the lake,
which looks very inviting this warm weather; the views are al-
‘ways pleasing: hills and forest, farms and groves, encircling a
beautiful sheet of water.

There is certainly no natural object, among all those which
make up a landscape, winning so much upon our affection, as
water. It is an essential part of prospects, widely different in
character. Mountains form a more striking and imposing feature,
and they give to a country a character of majesty which cannot
exist without them; but not even the mountains, with all their
sublime prerogative, can wholly satisfy the mind, when stripped
of torrent, cascade, or lake; while, on the other hand, if there be
only a quiet brook running through a meadow in some familiar
spot, the eye will often turn, unconsciously, in that direction, and
linger with interest upon the humble stream. Observe, also, that
the waters in themselves are capable of the highest degree of
beauty, without the aid of any foreign element to enhance their
dignity ; give them full sway, let them spread themselves into
their widest expanse, let them roll into boundless seas, enfolding
the earth in their embrace, with half the heavens for their canopy,
and assuredly they have no need to borrow from the mountain

or the forest,

THE LAKE. 113

Even in a limited water-view, there is a flow of life, a ceaseless
variety, which becomes a perpetual source of delight ; every pass-
ing hour throws over the transparent countenance of the lake, or
river, some fresh tint of coloring, calls up some new play of ex-
pression beneath the changing influences of the sun, the winds,
the clouds, and we are all but cheated into the belief that the
waters know something of the sorrows and joys of our own hearts ;
we turn to them with more than admiration—with the partiality
with which we turn to the face of a friend. In the morning, per-
haps, we behold the waves charged with the wild power of the
storm, dark and threatening, and the evening sun of the same
day finds the flood lulled to rest, calmly reflecting the intelligent
labors of man, and the sublime works of the Almighty, as though
in conscious repose.

Our own highland lake can lay no claim to grandeur ; it has
no broad expanse, and the mountains about cannot boast of any
great height, yet there is a harmony in the different parts of
the picture which gives it much merit, and which must always
excite a lively feeling of pleasure. The hills are a charming set-
ting for the lake at their feet, neither so lofty as to belittle the
sheet of water, nor so low as to be tame and commonplace ;
there is abundance of wood on their swelling ridges to give the
charm of forest scenery, enough of tillage to add the varied in-
terest of cultivation; the lake, with its clear, placid waters, lies
gracefully beneath the mountains, flowing here into a quiet little
bay, there skirting a wooded point, filling its ample basin, without
encroaching on its banks by a rood of marsh or bog.

And then the village, with its buildings and gardens covering
the level bank to the southward, is charmingly placed, the waters

114 RURAL HOURS.

spreading before it, a ridge of hills rising on either side, this al-

most wholly wooded, that partly tilled, while beyond lies a back-

ground, varied by nearer and farther heights. The little town,

though an important feature in the prospect, is not an obtrusive
one, but quite in proportion with surrounding objects. It has a
cheerful, flourishing aspect, yet rural and unambitious, not aping
the bustle and ferment of cities; and certainly one may travel
many a mile without finding a village more prettily set down by
the water-side.

A collection of buildings always shows well rising immediately
from the water ; the liquid plain, in its mobile play of expression,
and the massive piles of building, with the intricate medley of
outline which make up the perspective of a town, when brought
naturally into one view, form an admirable contrast, the mind un-
consciously delighting in the opposite characters of these chief
objects of the scene, each heightening, and yet relieving, the
beauty of the other.

Monday, 11th—Warm day, with soft, hazy sunshine ; this sort
of atmosphere is always especially fine in a hilly country, shading
all the distances so beautifully, from the nearest wooded knoll,
to the farthest height. Walked to the Cliffs; found the views
very fine. ‘The woods are in great beauty, the foliage very rich,
without having lost, as yet, anything of its spring freshness. The
hemlocks are still clearly marked with their lighter and darker
greens of different years’ growth. The old cones are hanging on
the pines ; many of these remain on the trees all summer. There
were very few flowers in the wood where we walked, though I
do not know why this should be so; it was composed of fine

chestnut and beech, of primitive growth, mingled, as usual, with

ONC RELL, CEILS

Kn wuvugrg £8

SIE IE SAV Val (©) (O) ebcal IL Nat Jays

FIRST ROSES AND FIRE-FLIES. 115

evergreens. The young seedling forest trees are now springing
up everywhere, taking the place of the fading violets. On some
of the little beeches and aspens, the growth of one or two sea-
sons, we found the new leaves colored in tender pink, or a shade
of red, which is remarkable in trees which do not show any traces
of this coloring at other times; even in autumn their brightest
tint is usually yellow.

The fire-flies are gleaming about the village gardens this even-
ing—the first we have seen this year.

Tuesday, 12th.—¥ine day. The roses are opening at length;
they are a fortnight later than last year. This morning we were
delighted to find a few May-roses in full bloom; by evening,
others will have unfolded—to-morrow, many more will have
opened—and in a few days, the village gardens will be thronged
with thousands of these noble flowers.

How lavishly are the flowers scattered over the face of the
earth! One of the most perfect and delightful works of the
Creation, there is yet no other form of beauty so very com-
mon. Abounding in different climates, upon varying soils—not a
few here to cheer the sad, a few there to reward the good—but
countless in their throngs, infinite in their variety, the gift of
measureless beneficence—wherever man may live, there grow the
flowers.

Wednesday, 13th.—Pale, hazy sunshine. Heard of a dish of
wild strawberries ; we have not yet seen them ourselves.

Thursday, 14th.—The whip-poor-wills are now heard every
evening, from some particular points on the skirts of the village.
They arrive here about the first week in May, and continue their

peculiar nocturnal note until toward the last of June: “ most

116 RURAL HOURS.

musical, most melancholy” of night-sounds known in our region.
From some houses on the bank of the lake and near the river,
they are heard every night; probably the sound comes over the
water from the wooded hills beyond, for they are said to prefer
high and dry situations. Once in a while, but not very frequent-
ly, they come into the village, and we have heard them when
they must have been in our own grounds. It is only natural,
perhaps, that some lmgering shade of superstition should be con-
nected with this singular bird—so often heard, so seldom seen ;
thousands of men and women im this part of the world have lis-
tened to the soft wailing whistle, from childhood to old age,
through every summer of a long life, without having once laid
their eyes on the bird. Until quite lately, almost every one be-
lieved the night-hawk and the whip-poor-will to be the same,
merely because the first is often seen by daylight, while the last,
which much resembles it, is wholly nocturnal, and only known to
those who search for him in the shady woods by day, or meet
him by moonlight at night. ‘These birds will soon cease their sere-
nading ; after the third week in June, they are rarely heard, in
which respect they resemble the nightingale, who sings only for
afew weeks in May and June; early in September, they go to
the southward. Forty years since, they are said to have been
much more numerous here than they are to-day.

Iriday, 15th.— Very warm; various sorts of weather in the
course of the day. Cloudy morning, brilliant mid-day, and in the
~ afternoon a sudden shower. It rained heavily, with thunder and
lightning, for an hour, then cleared again, and we had a charming
evening.

Saw a number of humming-birds—they are particularly partial

HUMMING-BIRDS. 117

to the evening hours. One is sure to find them now toward
sunset, fluttering about their favorite plants ; often there are sev-
eral together among the flowers of the same bush, betraying
themselves, though unseen, by the trembling of the leaves and
blossoms. They are extremely fond of the Missouri currant—of
all the early flowers, it is the greatest favorite with them ; they
are fond of the lilacs also, but do not care much for the syringa ;
to the columbine they are partial, to the bee larkspur also, with
the wild bergamot or Oswego tea, the speckled jewels, scarlet
trumpct-flower, red clover, honeysuckle, and the lychnis tribe.
There is something m the form of these tube-shape blossoms,
whether small or great, which suits their long, slender hills, and
possibly, for the same reason, the bees cannot find such easy ac-
cess to the honey, and leave nrore in these than in the open flowers.
To the lily the humming-bird pays only a passing compliment,
and seems to prefer the great tiger-lily to the other varieties ; the
rose he seldom visits; he will leave these stately blossoms any
day for a head of the common red cloyer, in which he especially
delights. Often of a summer’s evening have we watched the
humming-birds flitting about the meadows, passing from one tuft
of clover to another, then resting a moment on a tall spear of
timothy grass, then off again to fresh clover, scarcely touching
the other flowers, and continuing frequently in the same field until
the very latest twilight.

Mr. Tupper, in his paper on “ Beauty,” pays a pretty compli-
ment to the humming-bird. Personifying Beauty, he says, she

‘* Fluttereth into the tulip with the humming-bird.”

But, although these little creatures are with us during the tulip

eres eee Fe eee ae

118 RURAL HOURS.

season, it may be doubted if they feed on these gaudy blossoms.
On first reading the passage, this association struck us as one with
which we were not familiar; had it been the trumpet-flower,
nothing would have been more natural, for these dainty birds are
forever fluttermg about the noble scarlet blossoms of that plant,
as we all know, but the tulip did not seem quite in place in this
connection. Anxious to know whether we had deceived our-
selves, we have now watched the humming-birds for several sea-
sons, and, as yet, have never seen one in a tulip, while we have
often observed them pass these for other flowers. Possibly this
may have been accidental, or other varieties of the humming-bird
may have a different taste from our own, and one cannot posi-
tively assert that this little creature never feeds on the tulip, with-
out more general examination. But there is something in the
upright position of that flower which, added to its size, leads one
to believe that it must be an mconvenient blossom for the hum-
ming-bird, who generally seems to prefer nodding or drooping
flowers, if they are at all large, always feeding on the wing as he
does, and never alighting, like butterflies and bees, on the petals.
Altogether, we are inclined to believe that if the distinguished
author of Proverbial Philosophy had been intimate with our little
neighbor, he would have placed him in some other native plant,
and not in the Asiatic tulip, to which he seems rather indifferent.
The point is a very trifling one, no doubt, and it is extremely bold
te find fault with our betters ; but in the first place, we are busy-
ing ourselves wholly with trifles just now, and then the great
work in question has been a source of so much pleasure and ad-
vantage to half the world, that no one heeds the misplaced tulip,

unless it be some rustic bird-fancier. By supposing the flower

HUMMING-BIRDS. 119

of the tulip-tree to be meant, the question would be entirely set-
tled to the satisfaction of author, reader, and humming-bird also,
who is very partial to those handsome blossoms of his native
woods.

It is often supposed that our little friend seeks only the most
fragrant flowers ; the blossoms on the Western Prairies, those of
Wisconsin at least, and probably others also, are said to have but
little perfume, and it is observed that the humming-bird is a
stranger there, albeit those wilds are a perfect sea of flowers
during the spring and summer months. But the amount of honey
in a plant has nothing to do with its perfume, for we daily see
the humming-birds neglecting the rose and the white lily, while
many of their most favorite flowers, such as the scarlet honey-
suckle, the columbine, the lychnis tribe, the trumpet flower, and
speckled jewels, have no perfume at all. Other pet blossoms of
theirs, however, are very fragrant, as the highly-scented Missouri
currant, for instance, and the red clover, but their object seems
to be quite independent of this particular quality in a plant.

The fancy these little creatures have for perching on a dead
twig is very marked ; you seldom see them alight elsewhere, and
the fact that a leafless branch projects from a bush, seems enough
to invite them to rest; it was but yesterday we saw two males
sitting upon the same dead branch of a honeysuckle beneath the
window. And last summer, there chanced to be a little dead
twig, at the highest point of a locust-tree, in sight from the house,
which was a favorite perching spot of theirs for some weeks; pos-
sibly it was the same bird, or the same pair, who frequented it,
but scarcely a day passed without a tiny little creature of the
tribe being frequently seen there, Perhaps there may have been

re

120 RURAL HOURS.

a nest close at hand, but they build so cunningly, making their
nests look so much like a common bunch of moss or lichen, that
they are seldom discovered, although they often build about gar-
dens, and usually at no great height; we have known a nest
found in a lilac-bush, and sometimes they are even satisfied with a
tall coarse weed ; in the woods, they are said to prefer a white oak
sapling, seldom building, however, more than ten feet from the
ground.

Though so diminutive, they are bold and fearless, making very
good battle when necessary, and going about generally in a very
careless, confident way. They fly into houses more frequently
than any other bird, sometimes attracted by plants or flowers
within, often apparently by accident, or for the purpose of ex-
ploring. The country people have a saymg that when a hum-
ming-bird flies in at a window he brings a love message for some
one in the house; a pretty fancy, certainly, for Cupid himself
could not have desired a daintier avant courier. Unfortunately, this
trick of flying in at the windows is often a very serious and fatal
one to the poor little creatures themselves, whatever felicity it
may bring to the Romeo and Juliet of the neighborhood ; for they
usually quiver about against the ceilmg until quite stunned and
exhausted, and unless they are caught and set at liberty, soon de-
stroy themselves in this way. We have repeatedly known them
found dead in rooms little used, that had been opened to air, and
which they had entered unperceived.

They are not so very delicate in constitution as one might sup-
pose. Mr. Wilson remarks that they are much more numerous in
this country than the common wren is in England. It is well

known that we have but one variety im this part of the continent ;

THE THORN. 121

there is another in Florida, and there are several more on the Pacific
coast, one reaching as far north as Nootka Sound. They frequently
appear with us before the chimney-swallows, and I have seen one
about our own flower-borders, during a mild autumn, as late as
the first of December; they usually disappear, however, much
earlier, remaining, perhaps, a month or six weeks later than the
swallows. ‘They winter in the tropics, and are said to make their
long journeys in pairs, which looks as though they mated for life,
like some other birds.

Saturday, 16th—Warm ; thermometer 79 in the shade at five
o'clock. Long drive down the valley toward evening. The
farms are looking very pleasantly: the young grain waving in the
breeze is headed, but not yet colored ; the meadows are becoming
tinged with their own proper blossoms, the red sorrel flowers,
golden buttercups, daisies, and clover appearing successively,
until the whole field is gay. The crops generally look very well,
promising a good return to the husbandman for his labor. In
low grounds, about the brooks, the purple flags are now blooming
in profusion, and the thorn-trees are still in flower on many banks.

There is a tradition that during the war of the Revolution the
long spines of the thorn were occasionally used by the American
women for pins, none of which were manufactured in the country ;
probably it was the cockspur variety, which bears the longest
and most slender spines, and is now in flower. The peculiar con-
dition of the colonies rendered privations of this kind a great ad-
ditional evil of that memorable struggle ; almost everything in the
shape of the necessaries and luxuries of life came then from the
Old World. Several native plants were prepared at that time to

take the place of the prohibited sowchong and bohea ; the “New
6

122 RURAL HOURS.

Jersey tea,” for instance, a pretty shrub, and the “ Labrador tea,”
a low evergreen with handsome white flowers. _ Certainly it was
only fair that the women should have their share of privations in
the shape of pins and tea, when Washington and his brave army
were half clad, half armed, half starved, and never paid ; the
soldiers of that remarkable war, both officers and men, if not lit-
erally using the spines of the thorn-tree, like their wives, often
went about looking something like Spenser’s picture of Despair :

¢ His garments naught but many ragged clouts,

With thorns together pinned, and patched was.”

In some farm-houses where much knitting and spinning is going
on, one occasionally sees a leafless branch of a thorn-bush hanging
in a corner, with a ball of yarn on each spine: quite a pretty, rus-
tic device. We saw one the other day which we admired very
much.

Monday, 18th.—Lovely day; thermometer 82 in the shade at
dinner-time. The wild roses are in flower. We have them of
three varieties : the early rose, with reddish branches, which seldom
blooms here until the first week in June; the low rose, with a
few large flowers ; and the tall many-flowered swamp rose, blooming
late in the summer. They are quite common about us, and al-
though the humblest of their tribe, they have a grace all their
own; there is, indeed, a peculiar modesty about the wild rose
which that of the gardens does not always possess. There is one
caprice of the gardening art to-day which a rustic finds it difficult
to admire, and that is the tall grafted tree roses taking a form
which nature assuredly never yet gave to a rose-bush. The flow-
ers themselves may be magnificent as flowers, but one stares at

them with curiosity, one does not turn to them with affection ;

THE MODESTY OF FLOWERS. 123

moreover, they look as though they enjoyed being stared at,
thereby losmg much of their attractiveness ; in short, they are
not thoroughly rose-like. It is a cruel thing in a gardener to
pervert, as it were, the very nature of a plant, and one could
sooner forgive the clipping a yew-tree into a peacock, according
to the quaint fancy of our forefathers, than this strippmg the mod-
est rose of her drapery of foliage—it reminds one of the pain-
ful difference between the gentle, healthy-hearted daughter of
home, the light of the house, and the meretricious dancer, tricked
out upon the stage to dazzle and bewilder, and be stared at by
the mob. The rose has so long been an emblem of womanly
loveliness, that we do not: like to see her shorn of one feminine at-
tribute ; and modesty in every true-hearted woman is, like affec-
tion, a growth of her very nature, whose roots are fed with her
life’s blood. No; give back her leaves to the rose, that her
flowers may open amid their native branches. ‘This veil of ver-
dure, among whose folds the starry blossoms bud, and bloom, and
die, has been given to every plant—-the lowly dew-drop, as well
as the gorgeous martagon; nay, it is the mheritance of the very
rudest weeds ; and yet the rose, the noblest flower on earth, you
would deprive of this priceless grace !

We are very fortunate in having the wild roses about our own
haunts ; they are not found everywhere. M. de Humboldt men-
tions that in his travels in South America he never saw one, even
in the higher and cooler regions, where other brambles and plants
of a temperate climate were common.

Tuesday, 9th._Fine strawberries from the fields this evening
for tea. Warm, bright weather; thermometer 85—lovely even-

ing, but too warm for much exercise. Strolled in the lane, en-

124 RURAL -HOURS.

joying the fragrant meadows, and the waving corn-fields on the
skirts of the village.

‘A meadow near at hand would seem to give more pleasure than
a corn-field. Grain, to appear to full advantage, should be seen
at a little distance, where one may note the changes in its coloring
with the advancing season, where one may enjoy the play of light
when the summer clouds throw their shadows there, or the breezes
chase one another over the waving lawn. It is like a piece of
shaded silk which the salesman throws off a little, that you may
better appreciate the effect. But a meadow is a delicate embroid-
ery in colors, which you must examine closely to understand all its
merits ; the nearer you are, the better. One must bend over the
grass to find the blue violet in May, the red strawberry in June ;
one should be close at hand to mark the first appearance of the
simple field-blossoms, clover, red and white, buttercup and daisy,
with the later lily, and primrose, and meadow-tuft ; one should
be nigh to breathe the sweet and fresh perfume, which increases
daily until the mowers come with their scythes.

The grasses which fill our meadows are very many of them
foreign plants; among these are the vernal-grass, which gives
such a delightful fragrance to the new-mown hay. The timothy
is also an imported grass; so is the meadow-grass considered
as the best of all for pasture; the orchard-grass much esteemed
also; and the canary-grass, which yields a seed for birds. Some
of the most troublesome weeds of this tribe are naturalized, as the
darnel in pastures, the chess or cheat of the grain-fields ; quaking-
grass, quitch-grass, yard-grass, and crab-grass, also, Altogether,
there are some thirty varieties of these imported grasses enumer-

ated by botanists in this part of the country.

THE GRASSES. 125

A number more are common to both continents, like the Vanilla-
grass, often gathered for its perfume, and which in Northern Eu-
rope is called holy-grass, from its being scattered before church-
doors on holydays; and the manna-grass, bearing sweet grains,
which are eaten in Holland and some other countries; the dent-
grasses, also, good for cattle, several of which are natives, while
others have heen introduced. There seem to be some twenty va-
rieties which thus belong to both continents.

In addition to the preceding, there are upwards of a hundred
more grasses belonging strictly to the soil; many of these are
mere weeds, though others are very useful. Among the native
plants of this kind are nimble-will, a great favorite with the Ken-
tucky farmers, and found as far east as this State ; several useful
kinds of fescne-grass, and soa, one of which has something of the
fragrance of the vernal-grass, and the reed canary-grass, of which
the ribbon-grass of gardeners is a variety ; the salt grasses of the
coast, also, very important to the sea-shore farmers. Among the
native plants of this tribe we have the wild oat, wild rye, wild
barley, mountain rice, and wild rice, found in many of the waters
of this State, both fresh and brackish.

Altogether, of some hundred and fifty grasses, about one-fifth
of the number seem of foreign origin ; but if we consider their im-
portance to the farmer, and the extent of cultivated soil they now
cover, we must take a different view of them; probably in this
sense the native grasses scarcely rank more than as one to four in
our meadows and cultivated lands.

The clovers, also, though thoroughly naturalized, are most of
them imported plants: the downy “rabbit-foot,” or “stone-clo-

ver,” the common red variety ; the “zig-zag,” and the “hop clo-

126 RURAL HOURS.

vers,’ are all introduced. The question regarding the white
clover has not been clearly settled, but it is usually considered, I
believe, as indigenous, though some botanists mark the point as
doubtful. . The buffalo clover found in the western part of this
State, and common still farther westward, is the only undoubtedly
native variety we possess.

Wednesday, 20th.—Very warm day; thermometer 93 in the
shade at three o’clock. The locust flowers are perfuming the vil-
lage ; one perceives their fragrance within doors, throughout the
house. In many parts of the country these beautiful trees have
been very much injured of late years by a worm called the borer,
which is very destructive wherever it appears. In the pleasant
villages at the westward, where locusts are so much in favor for
planting in the streets, they have been very much injured, and
their blighted branches give quite a melancholy look to some of
these towns. Fortunately for us, the trees in our neighborhood
are yet unscathed; these borers have not, I believe, appeared
anywhere in the county.*

Thursday, 21st——Extremely warm ; thermometer 92. Hap-
pily, there have been pleasant western breezes through these warm
days. Strolled about the village in the evening; saw an old
neighbor of threescore and fifteen at work in his garden, hoemg
his dozen corn-hills, and weeding his cucumber vines.

One always loves a garden ; labor wears its pleasantest aspect
there. From the first days of spring, to latest autumn, we move
about among growing plants, gay flowers, and cheerful fruits ;

and there is some pretty change to note by the light of every sun.

* These borers are the young of different beetles, some of which live several

years in the wood before their transformation.

THE COTTAGE GARDEN. 127

Even the narrowest cottage patch looks pleasantly to those who
come and go along the highway ; it is well to stop now and then
when walking, and look over the paling of such little gardens, and
note what is going on there.

Potatoes, cabbages, and onions are grown here by every family as
first requisites. Indian corn and cucumbers are also thought in-
dispensable, for Americans of all classes eat as much maize as
their Indian predecessors. And as for cucumbers, they are re-
quired at every meal of which a thorough-going Yankee partakes,
either as salad in summer, or pickled in winter. We sometimes
see men about the villages eating them unseasoned like apples.
Peas and beans rank next in favor; some of each are generally
found in the smallest gardens. Beets, turnips, and carrots are
not so very common; they are not thought absolutely necessary ;
one sees gardens without them. MRadishes do not thrive well in
this soil, but the light green leaves of the lettuce are seen every-
where. There is usually a pumpkin-vine running about the corn-
hills, its large yellow flowers and golden fruit showing, as a
matter of course, below the glossy leaves of the maize; a part
of the fruit is made into pies, the rest goes to the cow or pig.
Sometimes you find squashes, also, in these small gardens, with
a few tomatoes, perhaps; but these last are difficult to raise here,
on account of the occasional frosts of May.

Flowers are seldom forgotten in the cottage garden ; the widest
walk is lined with them, and there are others beneath the low
windows of the house. You have rose-bushes, sun-flowers, and
holly-hocks, as a matter of course; generally a cluster of pinks,
bachelor’s buttons, also, and a sweet pea, which is a great favor-

ite; plenty of marigolds, a few poppies, large purple china asters,

128 RURAL HOURS.

and a tuft of the lilac phlox. Such are the blossoms to be seen
before most doors ; and each is pretty in its own time and place;
one has a long-standing regard for them all, including the homely
sun-flower, which we should be sorry to miss from its old haunts.
Then the scarlet flowering bean, so intimately connected with
childish recollections of the hero Jack and his wonderful adven-
ture, may still be seen flourishing in the cottage garden, and it
would seem to have fallen from a pod of the identical plant cele-
brated in nursery rhyme, for it bas a great inclination for climbing,
which is generally encouraged by training it over a window. We
do not hear, however, of any in these parts reaching the roof in
a single night’s growth. You must go to the new lands on the
prairies for such marvels now-a-days. They tell a wonderful story
of a cucumber-vine somewhere beyond the great lakes, in the last
“new settlement,” probably ; the seed having been sowed one
evening in a good bit of soil, the farmer, gomg to his work next
morning, found it not only out of the ground, but grown so much
that he was curious to measure it; “he followed it to the end of
his garden, over a fence, along an Indian trail, through an oak
opening, and then seeing it stretch some distance beyond, he went
back for his horse, but while he was saddling old Bald the vine
had so much the advantage of him that it reached the next clear-

ing before he did ; there he left it to go back to dinner; and how

much farther it ran that day Ebenezer could not tell for cer-

tain.”

We have no such wonders hereabouts; and even the ambitious
bean seldom reaches higher than a low roof; nor is its growth
always sufficiently luxuriant to shade the window, for it often

shares that task with a morning-glory. ‘The plan of these leafy

THE COTTAGE GARDEN. 129

blinds is a pretty one, but they are too often trained in stiff and
straight lines ; a poetical idea, tirée a quatre épingles. Frequently
we see a cottage with a door in the centre, and one window on
each side, and vines trained over the sashes in this way, which
gives it an odd look, like a house in green spectacles, as it were.
When hop-vines are used for screening the windows, which is
often the case, the plant is not so easily restrained ; and throwing
out its luxuriant branches right and left, takes care of itself.

Currants are almost the only fruit seen in the smaller gardens
of our neighborhood ; even gooseberries are not so general ; both
raspberries and strawberries grow wild here in such profusion that
few persons cultivate them. Currants, by-the-by, both black and
red, are also native plants; the black currant is by no means rare
in this State, and very much resembles the varieties cultivated in
gardens ; the wild red currant is chiefly confined to the northern
parts of the country, and it is precisely like that which we culti-
vate. Both purple and green gooseberries are also found wild in
our woods.

It is often a matter of surprise and regret that fruit should not
be more cultivated among us in gardens of all sizes; but the in-
different common cherry is almost the only fruit-tree found here
in cottage gardens. Even the farmers neglect cherries, and plums,
and pears, surprisingly. Peaches and grapes seldom ripen here
in the open air; they might probably be cultivated as wall fruit,
but it is so easy now to procure them by railroad from other
counties, that few persons care to try experiments of this kind.
Peaches, and melons, and plums, brought from a distance, are
carried about the village for sale, throughout the season, as a mat-

ter of course.
6*

130 RURAL HOURS.

There is, unhappily, a very serious objection to cultivating fruit
in our village vardens ; fruit-stealing is a very common crime in
this part of the world ; and the standard of principle on such sub-
jects is as low as it well can be in our rural communities. Prop-
erty of this kind is almost without protection among us; there
are laws on the subject, but these are never enforced, and of course
people are not willing to throw away money, and time, and
thought, to raise fruit for those who might easily raise it for them-
selves, if they would take the pains to do so. There can be no
doubt that this state of things is a serious obstacle to the cultiva-
tion of choice fruit in our villages; horticulture would be in a
much higher condition here if it were not for this evil. But the
impunity with which boys, and men, too, are allowed to commit
thefts of this kind, is really a painful picture, for it must inevita-
bly lead to increase a spirit of dishonesty throughout the commu-
nity.

It is the same case with flowers. Many people seem to con-
sider them as public property, though cultivated at private ex-
pense. It was but the other day that we saw a little girl, one of
the village Sunday-scholars, moreover, put her hand within the
railing of a garden and break off several very fine plants, whose
growth the owner had been watching with care and interest for
many weeks, and which had just opened to reward his pains.
Another instance of the same kind, but still more flagrant in de-
gree, was observed a short time since: the offender was a full-
grown man, dressed in fine broadcloth to boot, and evidently a
stranger; he passed before a pretty yard, gay with flowers, and
unchecked by a single scruple of good manners, or good morals,

proceeded to make up a handsome bouquet, without so much as

FLOWER THEFTS. 131

saying by your leave to the owner; having selected the flowers
most to his fancy, he arranged them tastefully, and then walked
off with a free and jaunty air, and an expression of satisfaction
and self-complacency truly ridiculous under the circumstances.
He had made up his nosegay with so much pains, eyed it so ten-
derly as he carried it before him, and moved along with such a
very mincing and dainty manner, that he was probably on the
way to present himself and his trophy to his sweetheart ; and we
can only hope that he met with just such a reception as was de-
served by a man who had been committing petty larceny. As if
to make the chapter complete, the very same afternoon, the vil-
lage being full of strangers, we saw several young girls, elegantly
flounced, put their hands through the railing of another garden,
facing the street, and help themselves in the same easy manner
to their neighbor’s prettiest flowers: what would they have
thought if some one had stepped up with a pair of scissors and
eut half a yard from the ribbon on their hats, merely because it
was pretty, and one had a fancy for it? Neither the little girl,
nor the strangers m broadcloth and flowers, seem to have learned
at common school, or at Sunday school, or at home, that respect
for the pleasures of others is simple good manners, regard for the
rights of others, common honesty.

No one who had a flower border of his own would be likely
to offend in this way; he would not do so unwittingly, at least ;
and if guilty of such an act, it would be premeditated pilfering.
When people take pains to cultivate fruits and flowers themselves,
they have some idea of their value, which can only be justly
measured by the owner’s regard for them. And then, moreover,

gardening is a civilizing and improving occupation in itself ; its in-

132 RURAL HOURS.

fluences are all beneficial; it usually makes people more indus-
trious, and more amiable. Persuade a careless, indolent man to
take an interest in his garden, and his reformation has begun. Let
an idle woman honestly watch over her own flower-beds, and she
will naturally become more active. There is always work to be
done in a garden, some little job to be added to yesterday’s
task, without which it is incomplete ; books may be closed with a
mark where one left off, needlework may be thrown aside and re-
sumed again; a sketch may be left half finished, a piece of music
half practiced ; even attention to household matters may relax in
some measure for a while; but regularity and method are con-
stantly required, are absolutely mdispensable, to the well-being of
a garden. ‘The occupation itself is so engaging, that one com-
mences readily, and the interest increases so naturally, that no
great share of perseverance is needed to continue the employment,
and thus labor becomes a pleasure, and the dangerous habit of
idleness is checked. Of all faults of character, there is not one,
perhaps, depending so entirely upon habit as indolence ; and no-
where can one learn a lesson of order and diligence more pret-
tily and more pleasantly than from a flower-garden.

But another common instance of the good effect of gardening
may be mentioned :—it naturally inclines one to be open-handed.
The bountiful returns which are bestowed, year after year, upon
our feeble labors, shame us into liberality. Among all the misers
who have lived on earth, probably few have been gardeners.
Some cross-grained churl may set out, perhaps, with a determina-
tion to be niggardly with the fruits and flowers of his portion ;
but gradually his feelings soften, his views change, and before he

has housed the fruits of many summers, he sees that these good

GARDENS. 133

things are but the free gifts of Providence to himself, and he
learns at last that it is a pleasure, as well as a duty, to give.
This head of cabbage shall be sent to a poor neighbor; that
basket of refreshing fruit is reserved for the sick ; he has pretty
nosegays for his female friends; he has apples or peaches for lit-
tle people ; nay, perhaps in the course of years, he at length
achieves the highest act of generosity—he bestows on some friendly
rival a portion of his rarest seed, a shoot from his most precious
root! Such deeds are done by gardeners.

Horticulture is not carried on upon a great scale anywhere in
this county. We regret that this should be so. <A large gar-
den, where taste and knowledge have full scope, is indeed a noble
work, full of instruction and delight. The rare trees and plants
brought with toil, and cost, and patience, from distant regions ;
the rich variety of fruits and vegetables; the charming array of
flowers, are among the most precious and the most graceful tro-
phies of commerce, and industry, and adventure. Such gardens,
whether public or private, are always desirable in a neighborhood.
They are among the best gifts of wealth, and scatter abroad too
many benefits to deserve the doubtful name of a luxury. If we have
none near enough to bring good to our own rural village, it is at
least pleasant to remember that other communities are more for-
tunate than ourselves. When one cannot enjoy some particular
good thing one’s self, a very little charity, and a very little phi-
losophy, lead one to be glad, at least, that others may profit by it.

A very striking proof of the civilizing effect of large gardens
may be seen any day in the great towns on the Continent of Eu-
rope, whether in France, Italy, Germany, &., &e. In those old

countries, where grounds of this kind have been more or less open

“ oo

134 RURAL HOURS.

to the public for generations, the privilege is never abused by
any disgraceful act. The flowers, the trees, the statuary, remain
uninjured year after year; it never seems to occur to the most
reckless and abandoned to injure them. The general population of
those towns is, in many respects, inferior to our own; but in this
particular point their tone of civilization rises far above the level
of this country.

Friday, 22d.—Still very warm; thermometer 90 in the shade.
Although the heat has been greater and more prolonged than usual
in this part of the country, still there is a sort of corrective in our
highland air which is a great relief; the same degree of the ther-
mometer produces much more suffering in the lower counties,
particularly in the towns. Extreme lassitude from the heat is
seldom felt here ; and our nights are almost always comparatively
cool, which is a very great advantage.

Saturday, 23d.— Bright, warm day ; thermometer 89. Fine air
from the west.

Pleasant walk in the evenmg. Met a party of children coming
from the woods with wild flowers. In May or June, one often
meets little people bringing home flowers or berries from the
hills; and if you stop to chat with them, they generally offer you
« share of their nosegay or their partridge-berries; they are as
fond of these last as the birds, and they eat the young aromatic
leaves also. Their first trip to the woods, after the snow has gone,
is generally in quest of these berries; a week or two later, they
go upon the hills for our earliest flowers—ground-laurel and
squirrel-cups ; a little later, they gather violets, and then again,
the azalea, or “wild honeysuckle,” as they call it, to which they

are very partial.

NAMES OF FLOWERS. 135

But, though pleased with the flowers, the little creatures sel-
dom know their names. This seems a pity; but we have often
asked them what they called this or that blossom in their hands,
and they seldom could give an answer, unless it happened to be
& rose, perhaps, or a violet, or something of that sort, familiar to
every one. But their elders are generally quite as ignorant as
themselves in this way ; frequently, when we first made acquaint-
ance with the flowers of the neighborhood, we asked grown per-
sons—learned, perhaps, in many matters—the common names of
plants they must have seen all their lives, and we found they
were no wiser than the children or ourselves. It is really sur-
prising how little the country people know on such subjects.
Farmers and their wives, who have lived a long life in the fields,
can tell you nothing on these matters. The men are even at fault
among the trees on their own farms, if these are at all out of the
common way; and as for the smaller native plants, they know
less about them than Buck or Brindle, their own oxen. Like the
children, they sometimes pick a pretty flower to bring home, but
they have no name for it. The women have some little acquaint-
ance with herbs and simples, but even in such cases they frequently
make strange mistakes; they also are attracted by the wild flow-
ers; they gather them, perhaps, but they cannot name them.
And yet, this is a day when flower borders are seen before every
door, and every young girl can chatter largely about “ bouquets,”
and the “ Language of Flowers” to boot.

It is true, the common names of our wild flowers are, at best,
in a very unsatisfactory state. Some are miscalled after Euro-
pean plants of very different characters. Very many have one

name here, another a few miles off, and others again have actually,

ee

136 RURAL HOURS.

as yet, no English names whatever. They are all found in botanical
works under long, clumsy, Latin appellations, very little fitted for
every-day uses, just like the plants of our gardens, half of which
are only known by long-winded Latin polysyllables, which timid
people are afraid to pronounce. But, annoying as this is in the
garden, it is still worse in the fields. What has a dead language
to do on every-day occasions with the living blossoms of the hour ?
Why should a strange tongue sputter its uncouth, compound
syllables upon the simple weeds by the way-side? If these hard
words were confined to science and big books, one would not
quarrel with the roughest and most pompous of them all; but this
is so far from being the case, that the evil is spreading over all
the woods and meadows, until it actually perverts our common
speech, and libels the helpless blossoms, turning them into so
many “‘ precieuses ridicules.” Happy is it for the rose that she
was named long ago; if she had chanced to live until our day,
by some prairie stream, or on some remote ocean island, she
would most assuredly have been called Tom, Dick, or Harry, in
Greek or Latin.

Before people were overflowing with science—at a time when
there was some simplicity left in the world, the flowers received
much better treatment in this way. Pretty, natural names were
given them in olden times, as though they had been called over
by some rural party—cherry-cheeked maidens, and merry-hearted
lads—gone a-Maying, of a pleasant spring morning. Many of
those old names were thoroughly homely and rustic, such as the
ox-eye, crow-foot, cowslip, butter-cup, pudding-grass, which grew
in every meadow ; then there was the hare-bell, which loved to

hang its light blue bells about the haunts of the timid hare; the

NAMES OF FLOWERS. 137

larkspur ; the bindweed, winding about shrubs and bushes ; the
honeysuckle, which every child has stolen many a time from the
bees ; spicy gilliflowers, a corruption of July-flowers, from the
month in which they blossomed ; daffadowndillies, a puzzle for ety-
mologists ; pennyroyal ; holly-hock, or holy-oak, as it was some-
times written ; paigle, another name for cowslips; primrose, from
the early season when the flower blooms ; carnation, or “ corona-
tion,” from the custom of wearing them in wreaths. These last
were also called sops-in-wine, from their being thrown into wine
to improve its flavor, a custom which seems to have prevailed
formerly in England ; the old Greeks had a practice of the same
kind, for ?Abbe Bartholemi tells us that they threw roses and
violets into their wine-casks, for the purpose of flavoring their
wines. May not this ancient custom prove the origin of the com-
mon French phrase—le bouquet du vin ?

There were other names, again, given to the plants in those good
old times, showing a touch of quaint humor—like Bouncing-Bet,
Ragged-Robin, bachelor’s-button, snap-dragon, foxglove, monks-
hood. Others bore names which showed there had been lovers
in the fields—like Sweet-Cicely, Sweet-William, heart’s-ease, pan-
sies, truelove. Even mere personal names, such as are so often
given to-day, were far better managed then—as for instance,
Herb-Robert, Good King-Henry, Marietts, Bartram, Angelica.
Others, again, were imaginative or fanciful—as morning-glory,
night-shade, flag, loose-strife, wake-robim, simpler’s-joy, thrift,
speedwell, traveller’s-joy, snow-drop, winter’s pale foundling,
wayfaring-tree, eye-bright, shepherd’s-purse, pink meaning eye,
in Dutch, like the French willet ; marigold, lady’s-smock—from

the white leaves of these flowers blooming in the grass, like

138 RURAL HOURS.

bleaching linen ; the wall-flower, which loved the shade of knight-
ly banners and pennons, and still clings faithfully to falling ruins ;
king’s-spears, flower-gentle, goldilocks, yellow-golds, the flower
de luce, flower of light, which great painters have placed in the
hands of saintly personages in many a noble work of art; the
sweet-daisy or day’s-eye, the “eye of day,” as Chaucer has call-
ed it.

After such names as these, ought we not to be thoroughly
ashamed of appellations like Batschia, Schoberia, Buchnera, Good-
yera, Brugmannsia, Heuchera, Scheuzeria, Schizanthus, and as
many more to match as you please? Names remarkably well
adapted to crocodiles, and rattlesnakes, and scorpions, but little
suited, one would think, to the flowers gentle of the field.

There is a modest little blossom known to all the world as
having been highly honored in different countries. La Margue-
rite was probably first named in the chansons of some lover trou-
badour, some noble brother-in-arms, perhaps, of him who sang

Blanche of Castille so sweetly :

“* Las! si j’avais pouvoir d’oublier
Sa beauté, son bien-dire
Et son trés-doux regarder,

Finirait mon martyre !

We may well believe it to have been some such knightly poet
who first felt the charm of that simple flower, and blending its
name and image with that of his lady-love, sang: “ St douce est
la Marguerite!’ So long as knights wore arms, and couched
lances in behalf of ladies fair, so long was la Marguerite a fa-

vored flower of chivalry, honored by all preua chevaliers ; knight

NAMES OF FLOWERS. 139

and squire bore its fame over the sea to merry England, over
Alps and Pyrenees also; in Spain it is still la Margarita ; in
Italy, da Margherettina. ‘The Italians, by-the-by, have also a pret-
ty rustic name of their own for it, /a pratellina, the little fielding.
And now, when the old towers of feudal castles are falling to
the ground, when even the monumental statues of knight and
dame are crumbling into dust where they lie in the churches, now
at this very day, you may still find the name of /a Marguerite upon
the lips of the peasant girls of France; you may see them meas-
uring the love of their swains by the petals of these flowers, pull-
ing them, one after another, and repeating, as each falls, wn pew,
beaucoup, passionement, pas du tout ; the last leaflet deciding the
all-important question by the word that accompanies it ; alas !
that it must sometimes prove pas du tout! Oddly enough, in

Germany, the land of sentiment and Vergiessmeinnicht, this flower

of love and chivalry has been degraded into shall we say
it, — Giinseblume,—Goose-blossom! Such, at least, is one of its
names; we hasten, however, to call it, with others, Masliebe, or
love-measure : probably from the same fancy of pulling the petals
to try lovers’ hearts by. In England, the Saxon dazsy has always
been a great favorite with rural poets and country-folk, independ-
ently of its knightly honors, as la Marguerite. Chaucer, as we
all know, delighted in it; he rose before the sun, he went a-field,

he threw himself on the ground to watch the daisy—

** To seen this flour so yong, so fresh of hew,

———— till it unclosed was

‘ Upon the smal, soft, swete gras.”

Now can one believe that if the daisy, or the Marguerite, had

140 RURAL HOURS.

been called Caractacussia, or Chlodovigia, it would have been
sung by knightly troubadours and minstrels, in every corner of
feudal Europe? Can you fancy this flower, “so yong, so fresh
of hew,” to have delighted Chaucer, under the title of Strhum-
vhreydavya, or Sirwilliamherschellia, or Doctorjohnsonia 2 Can

you imagine the gentle Emilie, in the garden gathering flowers—

<* 'To make a sotel garland for her hed,

While as an angel, hevonlich, she song :—”’

Can you imagine this gentle creature, or any other, of whom it

might be said,

‘** Her cheare was simple as bird in bower,

As white as lilly, or rose in rise :”

Can you picture to yourself swch maidens, weaving in their
) Vv ?

golden tresses, Symphoricarpus vulgaris, Tricochloa, Tradescantia,
Calopogon? &., &c. Or conceive for a moment some Perdita of

the present day, singing in her sweetest tones:

« Here’s flowers for you—
Pyxidanthera, Rudbeckia, Sclerolepis,
Escholtzia, that goes to bed with the sun,” &c., &e.

Fancy her calling for fragrant blossoms to bestow on her young
maiden friends: ‘ Spargonophorus, Rhododendron, Sabbatia, Schi-
zea, Schollera, Schistidium, Waldsteinia, and the tall Vernonia,
Noveborences,” &c., &c. Do you suppose that if she had gone
on in that style, Florizel would have whispered: “ When you
speak sweet, ’'d have you do it ever?” No, indeed! he would

nave stopped his ears, and turned to Mopsa and Doreas, Fancy

NAMES OF FLOWERS. 141

poor Ophelia prattling to Laertes about the wreath she had wo-
ven; instead of her “rosemary,” and “ pansies,” and ‘“ herb-
o’grace,” hear her discourse about ‘“ Plantanthera Blepharoglottis,
or Psycodes, Ageratum, Syntheris, Houghtoniana, Banksia, and
Jeffersonia,’ &c., &e. Could her brother in that case have pos-
sibly called her “O, rose of May, dear maid, kind sister, sweet
Ophelia?” No, indeed! And we may rest assured, that if the
daisy, the dowce Marguerite, had borne any one of these names,
Chaucer would have snapped his fingers at it. We may feel con-
fident that Shakspeare would then have showed it no mercy ; all
his fairies would have hooted at it; he would have tossed it to
Sycorax and Caliban; he would not have let either Perdita or
Ophelia touch it, nor Miranda, with her tres douw regarder, look
at it once.

Neither daisy, nor cowslip, nor snow-drop is found among the
fields of the New World, but blossoms just as sweet and pretty
are not wanting here, and it is really a crying shame to misname
them. Unhappily, a large number of our plants are new discov-
eriles—new, at least, when compared with Chaucer’s daisy, Spen-
ser’s coronation flower, or Shakspeare’s “pansies and herb-
o’erace ’—and having been first gathered since the days of Lin-
nus, as specimens, their names tell far more of the musty hortus
siccus, than of the gay and fragrant May-pole. But if we wish
those who come after us to take a natural, unaffected pleasure in
flowers, we should have names for the blossoms that mothers
and nurses can teach children before they are “in Botany ;” if
we wish that American poets should sing our native flowers as
sweetly and as simply as the daisy, and violets, and celandine

have been sung from the time of Chaucer or Herrick, to that of

eee

149 RURAL HOURS.

4

Burns and Wordsworth, we must look to it that they have natural,
pleasing names.

Monday, 25th.—Pleasant day ; much cooler; thermometer 75.
Yesterday, Sunday, we had a shower, which has very much re-

freshed the air for us here. No thunder or lightning, however,

in spite of the previous heat. Long walk this afternoon. Pass-
ing through a wheat-field, heard a full chorus of crickets and
other insects; they have begun their summer song in earnest.
Goldfinches were flying about in little flocks ; they are very social
creatures, always pleased to be together.

Tuesday, 26th.—Fine day; soft breeze from the north, the
wind much warmer than usual from that quarter. Thermometer
78. Walked in the woods. The dogmackie is in flower, and be-
ing so common, its white blossoms look very cheerfully in the
woods. These flowering shrubs, which live and bloom in shady
groves, are scarcely ever touched by the sunbeams; but they are
none the less beautiful for the subdued light which plays about
them. The dogmackie, like others of the same family, is also
ealled arrow-wood ; probably their branches and stems have been
employed, at some period or other in the history of arms, for mak-
ing arrows. We have never heard whether the Indians used the
wood in this way.

It was a pretty sight, coming home, to see the women and chil-
dren scattered about the meadows, gathering wild strawberries.
This delightful fruit is very abundant here, growing everywhere,
in the woods, along the road-sides, and in every meadow. Hap-
pily for us, the wild strawberries rather increase than diminish in
cultivated lands; they are even more common among the foreign

grasses of the meadows than within the woods. The two

WILD FRUITS. 1438

varieties marked by our botanists are both found about our
lake.

This wild harvest of fruit, a blessing to all, is an especial ad-
vantage to the poor; from the first strawberries in June, there is
a constant succession until the middle of September. In a week
or two we shall have raspberrics: both the red and the black
varieties are very abundant, and remarkably good. Then come
the blackberries—plenty here as in the neighborhood of Falstaff ;
the running kind, or vme-blackberry, bearing the finest fruit of all
its tribe, and growing abundantly on Long Island and in West-
chester, is not, however, found in our hills. Whortleberries
abound in our woods, and on every waste hill-side. Wild goose-
berries are common, and last summer we met a man with a pail
of them, which. he was carrying to the village for sale. Wild
plums are also common, and frequently brought to market. The
large purple flower of the rose-raspberry yields a fruit of a beau-
tiful color and pleasant, acid taste, but it is seldom eaten in quan-
tities. Wild grape-vines are very common, and formerly the fruit
used. to be gathered for sale, but of late years we have not seen
any. All these lesser kinds of wild fruits, strawberries, raspberries,
blackberries, and whortleberries, are gathered, to a very great
extent, for sale; women, children, and occasionally men also, find
it a profitable employment to bring them to market; an industri-
ous woman has made in this way, durmg the fruit season, thirty
dollars, without neglecting her family, and we have known an old
man who made forty dollars in one summer; children also, if
well disposed, can easily support themselves by the same means.

Strawberries sell in the village at a shilling a quart; blackberries

144 RURAL HOURS.

for three or four cents ; raspberries, and whortleberries also, from
three to five cents a quart.

Wednesday, 27th—Charming day ; thermometer 80. Toward
sunset strolled in the lane.

The fields which border this quiet bit of road are among the
oldest in our neighborhood, belonging to one of the first farms
cleared near the village; they are in fine order, and to look at
them, one might readily believe these lands had been under culti-
vation for ages. But such is already very much the character of
the whole valley ; a stranger moving along the highway looks in
vain for any striking signs of a new country; as he passes from
farm to farm in unbroken succession, the aspect of the whole re-
gion is smiling and fruitful. Probably there is no part of the
earth, within the limits of a temperate climate, which has takea
the aspect of an old country so soon as our native land ; very
much is due, in this respect, to the advanced state of civilization
in the present age, much to the active, intelligent character of the
people, and something, also, to the natural features of the country
itself. There are no barren tracts in our midst, no deserts which
defy cultivation ; even our mountains are easily tilled——arable, many
of them, to their very summits—- while the most sterile among them
are more or less clothed with vegetation in their natural state.
Altogether, circumstances have been very much in our favor.

While observing, this afternoon, the smooth fields about us, it
was easy, within the few miles of country in sight at the moment,

to pick out parcels of land in widely different conditions, and we

amused ourselves by following upon the hill-sides the steps of the

husbandman, from the first rude clearing, through every succes-

NEW LANDS. 145

sive stage of tillage, all within range of the eye at the same in-
stant. Yonder, for instance, appeared an opening in the forest,
marking a new clearing still in the rudest state, black with charred
stumps and rubbish; it was only last winter that the timber was
felled on that spot, and the soil was first opened to the sunshine,
after having been shaded by the old woods for more ages than
one can tell. Here, again, on a nearer ridge, lay a spot not only
cleared, but fenced, preparatory to being tilled; the decayed
trunks and scattered rubbish having been collected in heaps and
burnt. Probably that spot will soon be ploughed, but it fre-
quently happens that land is cleared of the wood, and then left
in a rude state, as wild pasture-ground ; an indifferent sort of
husbandry this, in which neither the soil nor the wood receives
any attention; but there is more land about us in this condition
than one would suppose. ‘The broad hill-side, facing the lane in
which we were walking, though cleared perhaps thirty years
since, has continued untilled to the present hour. In another
direction, again, lies a field of new land, ploughed and seeded for
the first time within the last few weeks; the young maize plants,
just shooting out their glossy leaves, are the first crop ever raised
there, and when harvested, the grain will prove the first fruits
the earth has ever yielded to man from that soil, after lying fal-
low for thousands of seasons. Many other fields in sight have
just gone through the usual rotation of crops, showing what the
soil can do in various ways; while the farm before us has been
under cultivation from the earliest history of the village, yielding
every season, for the last half century, its share of grass and
grain. To one familiar with the country, there is a certain

pleasure in thus beholding the agricultural history of the neigh-
7

146 ~ RURAL HOURS.

borhood unfolding .before one, followmg upon the farms in sight
these progressive steps in cultivation.

The pine stumps are probably the only mark of a new country
which would be observed by a stranger. With us, they take the
place of rocks, which are not common; they keep possession of
the ground a long while—some of those about us are known to
have stood more than sixty years, or from the first settlement of
the country, and how much longer they will last, time alone can
tell. In the first years of cultivation, they are a very great blem-
ish, but after a while, when most of them have been burnt or
uprooted, a gray stump here and there, among the grass of a
smooth field, does not look so very much amiss, reminding one,
as it does, of the brief history of the country. Possibly there
may be something of partiality in this opinion, just as some lovers
have been found to admire a freckled face, because the rosy
cheek of their sweetheart was mottled with brown freckles ; peo-
ple generally may not take the same view of the matter, they
may think that even the single stump had better be uprooted.
Several ingenious machines have been invented for getting rid
vl these enemies, and they have already done good service in the
county. Some of them work by levers, others by wheels; they
usually require three or four men and a yoke of oxen, or a horse,
to work them, and it is really surprismg what large stumps are
drawn out of the earth by these contrivances, the strongest roots
cracking and snapping like threads. Some digging about the
stump is often necessary as a preliminary step, to enable the
chain to be fastened securely, and occasionally the axe is used
to relieve the machine ; still, they work so expeditiously, that con-

tracts are taken to clear lands in this way, at the rate of twenty

STUMPS. 147

or thirty cents a stump, when, according to the old method,
working. by hand, it would cost, perhaps, two or three dollars to
uproot a large one thoroughly. In the course of a day, these
machines will tear up from twenty to fifty stumps, according to
their size. Those of the pine, hemlock, and chestnut are the
most difficult to manage, and these last longer than those of other
trees. When uprooted, the stumps are drawn together in heaps
and burnt, or frequently they are turned to account as fences,
being placed on end, side by side, their roots interlocking, and a
more wild and formidable barrier about a quiet field cannot well
be imagined. ‘These rude fences are quite common in our neigh-
borhood, and being peculiar, one rather likes them; it is said
that they last much longer than other wooden fences, remaining
in good condition for sixty years.

But although the stumps remaining here and there may appear
to a stranger the only sign of a new country to be found here,
yet closer observation will show others of the same character.
Those wild pastures upon hill-sides, where the soil has never been
ploughed, look very differently from other fallows. Here you
observe a little hillock rounding over a decayed stump, there a
petty hollow where some large trée has been uprooted by the
storm; fern and brake also are seen in patches, instead of the
thistle and the mullem. Such open hill-sides, even when rich
and grassy, and entirely free from wood or bushes, bear a kind
of heaving, billowy character, which, m certain lights, becomes
very distinct; these ridges are formed by the roots of old trees,
and remain long after the wood has entirely decayed. Even on
level ground there is always an elevation about the root of an

old tree and upon a hill-side, these petty knolls show more clear-

148 RURAL HOURS.

ly as they are thrown into relief by the light ; they secome much
bolder, also, from the washing of the soil, which accumulates
above, and is carried away from the lower side of the trunk,
leaving, often, a portion of the root bare in that direction. Of
course, the older a wood and the larger its trees, the more clearly
will this billowy character be marked. The tracks of the cattle
also make the formation more ridge-like, uniting one little knoll
with another, for when feeding, they generally follow one another,
their heads often turned in one direction, and upon a hill-side
they naturally take a horizontal course, as the most convenient.
Altogether, the billowy face of these rude hill-sides is quite strik-
ing and peculiar, when seen in a favorable light.

But there are softer touches also, telling the same story of
recent cultivation. It frequently happens, that walking about
our farms, among rich fields, smooth and well worked, one comes
to a low bank, or some little nook, a strip of land never yet cul-
tivated, though surrounded on all sides by ripening crops of east-
erm grains and grasses. One always knows such places by the
pretty native plants growing there. It was but the other day
we paused to observe a spot of this kind m a fine meadow, near
the village, neat and smooth, as though worked from the days of
Adam. <A path made by the workmen and cattle crosses the
field, and one treads at every step upon plantain, that regular
path-weed of the Old World; following this track, we come to a
little runnel, which is dry and grassy now, though doubtless at
one time the bed of a considerable spring ; the banks are several
feet high, and it is filled with native plants; on one side stands
a thorn-tree, whose morning shadow falls upon grasses and clo-

vers brought from beyond the seas, while in the afternoon, it lies

WATER-MARKS. 149
on gyromias and moose-flowers, sarsaparillas and cahoshes, which
bloomed here for ages, when the eye of the red man alone be-
held them. Even within the limits of the village spots may still
be found on the bank of the river, which are yet unbroken by the
plough, where the trailmg arbutus, and squirrel-cups, and May-
wings tell us so every spring; in older regions, these children of
the forest would long since have vanished from all the meadows
and villages, for the plough would have passed a thousand times
over every rood of such ground.

The forest flowers, the gray stumps in our fields, and the heay-
ing surface of our wild hill-sides, are not, however, the only way-
marks to tell the brief course of cultivation about us. These
speak of the fallen forest; but here, as elsewhere, the waters
have also left their impression on the face of the earth, and in
these new lands the marks of their passage is seen more clearly
than in older countries. They are still, in many places, sharp
and distinct, as though fresh from the workman’s hand. Our
valleys are filled with these traces of water-work ; the most care-
less observer must often be struck with their peculiar features,
and it appears remarkable that here, at an elevation so much
above the great western lakes, upon this dividing ridge, at the
very fountain head of a stream, running several hundred miles
to the sea, these lines are as frequent and as boldly marked as
though they lay in a low country subject to floods. Large
mounds rise like islands from the fields, their banks still sharply
cut; in other spots a depressed meadow is found below the level
of the surrounding country, looking like a drained Jake, enclosed

within banks as plainly marked as the works of a fortification; a

shrunken brook, perhaps, running to-day where a river flowed at

150 RURAL HOURS.

some period of past time. Quite near the village, from the lane
where we were walking this evening, one may observe a very bold
formation of this kind; the bank of the river is high and abrupt
at this spot, and it is scooped out into two adjoining basins, not
unlike the amphitheatres of ancient times. The central horn, as
it were, which divides the two semicircles, stretches out quite a
distance into a long, sharp point, very abrupt on both sides. The
farther basin is the most regular, and it is also marked by suc-
cessive ledges like the tiers of seats in those ancient theatres.
This spot has long been cleared of wood, and used as a wild pas-
ture ; but the soil has never yet been broken by the plough, and
we have often paused here to note the singular formation, and
the surprising sharpness of the lines. Quite recently they have
begun to dig here for sand; and if they continue the work, the
character of the place must necessarily be changed. But now,
as we note the bold outline of the basin, and watch the lines
worked by the waters ages and ages since, still as distinct as
though made last year, we see with our own eyes fresh proofs
that we are in a new country, that the meadows about us, cleared
by our fathers, are the first that have lain on the lap of the old
earth, at this point, since yonder bank was shaped by the floods.

Thursdoy, 28th.—Thunder shower about sunrise ; it continued
raining until the afternoon. ‘The shower was much needed, and
every one is rejoicing over the plentiful supply.

Walked in the afternoon, though the sky was still cloudy and
threatening. Obliged to follow the highway, for the woods are
damp and dripping, and the grass matted after the heavy rain,
But our walk proved very pleasant. It is not always those who

climb in search of a commanding position, nor those who diverge

RAIN-DROPS ON LEAVES. 151

from the beaten track at the beck of truant fancy, who meet with
the most enjoyment. ‘The views beneath a sober sky were still
beautiful. The village lay reflected in the clear, gray waters, as
though it had nothing else to do this idle afternoon but to smile
upon its own image in the lake; while the valley beyond, the
upland farms of Highborough, opposite, and the wooded hills
above us, were all rich in the luxuriant greens and showery fresh-
ness of June. Many crows were stirring ; some passing over us
with their heavy flight, while others were perched on the blasted
hemlocks just within the verge of the wood. hey are very par-
tial to this eastern hill; it is a favorite haunt of theirs at all sea-
sons. Many of the lesser birds were also flitting about, very
busy, and very musical after the ray morning ; they make great
havoc among the worms and insects at such times, and one fancies
that they sing more sweetly of a still evening, after a showery

day, than at other moments. Some of the goldfinches, wrens,

song-sparrows, and blue-birds, seemed to surpass themselves as

they sat perched on the rails of the fences, or upon the weeds by
the road-side.

‘here was scarcely a breath of air stirrng. The woods lay in
calm repose after the grateful shower, and large rain-drops were
gathered in clusters on the plants. The leaves of various kinds re-
ceive the water very differently: some are completely bathed,
showing a smooth surface of varnished green from stem to point
—like the lilac of the garden, for instance ;—on others, like the
syringa, the fluid lies in flattened transparent drops, taking an
emerald color from the leaf on which they rest; while the rose
and the honeysuckle wear those spherical diamond-like drops,

sung by poets, and sipped by fairies. The clover also, rose among

152 RURAL HOURS.

the grasses, wears her erystals as prettily as the queen of the
garden. Of course, it is the different texture of the leaves which
produces this very pleasing effect.

Friday, 29th.—Very pleasant. Sunshine, with a warm mist
on the hills; most beautiful effects of light and shade playing
about the valley.

The sweet-briar is now in full blossom. It is one of the pleas-
antest shrubs in the whole wide world. With us it is not so
very common as in most of the older counties, growing chiefly
at intervals along the road-side, and in fields which border the
highways. One never sees it in the woods, with the wild roses,
and other brambles. ‘The question as to its origin is considered
as settled, I believe, by botanists, and, although thoroughly natu-
ralized in most parts of the country, we cannot claim it as a
native.

That old worthy, Captain Gosnold, the first Englishman who
set foot in New England, landed on Cape Cod, as far back as
1602; he then proceeded to Buzzard Bay, and took up his quar-
ters, for a time, in the largest of the Elizabeth Islands, where the
first building, raised by English hands in that part of the conti-
nent, was put together. The object of his voyage was to procure
a cargo of the sassafras root, which, at that time, was in high
repute for medicinal purposes, and a valuable article of com-
merce. In relating his voyage, besides the sassafras which he
found there in abundance, he mentions other plants which he
had observed: the thorn, honeysuckle, wild pea, strawberries,
raspberries, and grape-vines, all undoubtedly natives ; but he also
names the eglantine, or sweet-briar, and the tansy, both of which

are generally looked upon as naturalized on this continent. Per-

THE SWEET-BRIAR. 153

haps the worthy captain had his head so full of sassafras, as to
care little for the rest of the vegetation, and he may have mis-
taken the wild rose for the eglantine, and some other plant for
tansy. His wild pea was probably one of our common vetches.

Some of the most beautiful sweet-briars in the world are found
growing wild along the road-sides about Fishkill, on the Hudson.
They are partial to the neighborhood of the cedars which are
common there, and clinging to those trees, they climb over them,
untrained, to the height of twenty feet or more. When in flower
the effect is very beautiful, their star-like blossoms resting on
the foliage of the cedars, which is usually so dark and grave.

Saturday, 30th.—Charming weather. First dish of green peas
from the garden to-day.

Came home from our walk with the village cows, this evening.
Some fifteen or twenty of them were straggling along the road,
going home of their own accord to be milked. Many of these
good creatures have no regular pasture the summer through, but
are left to forage for themselves along the road-sides, and in the
unfenced woods. They go out in the morning, without any one
to look after them, and soon find the best feeding ground, gen-
erally following this particular road, which has a long reach of
open woods on either side. We seldom meet them in any num-
ber on the other roads. They like to pasture in the forest, where
they doubtless injure the young trees, being especially fond of
the tender maple shoots. Sometimes we see them feeding on the
grass by the way-side, as soon as they have crossed the village
bridge ; other days they all walk off in a body, for a mile or more,
before they begin to graze. Toward evening, they turn their

heads homeward, without being sent for, occasionally walking at
Vic

154 RURAL HOURS.

a steady pace without stopping; at other times, loitering and nib-
bling by the way. Among those we followed, this evening, were
several old acquaintances, and probably they all belonged to dif-
ferent houses; only two of them had bells. As they came into
the village, they all walked off to their owners’ doors, some turn-
ing in one direction, some in another.

Of course, those cows that feed in fenced pastures are sent for,
and it is only those who forage for themselves who come and go
alone, in this way.

Monday, July 2d.—Clear, and cooler. New potatoes to-day.
Pleasant drive, in the afternoon, on the lake shore. The mid-
summer flowers are beginning to open. Yellow evening prim-
rose, purple rose-raspberry ; the showy willow-herb, with its
pyramid of lilac flowers ; the red and the yellow lilies. We ob-
served, also, a handsome strawberry blite, with its singular fruit-
like crimson heads; this flower is not uncommon in new lands, in
the western part of the State, and is probably a native, though
precisely similar to that of EKurope. The track over which we
passed this afternoon, and where we found the blite, has been
recently opened through the forest.

Observed many birds. The goldfinches were in little flocks as
usual, and purple-finches flew across our road more than once ;
quarrelsome king-birds were sitting on the shrubs and_ plants
along the bank, watching the wild bees, perhaps ; for they are
said to devour these as greedily as those of the hive. Some of
them were skimming over the lake in pursuit of other game, being
very partial also to the tribe of water insects. Saw another bird
not often met with, a red-start; unlike the European red-start,

which often builds about houses, the American bird of the same

THE FARM-HOUSE. ~ 155

tribe is very shy, and only seen in the forest. The one we ob-
served this evening was flitting about in a young grove upon the
borders of a brook; his red and black plumage, and flirting tail,
showing here and there among the foliage.

Tuesday, 3d.—* * * * We had, for several weeks,

been planning a visit to Farmer B

’s; our good friend, his
step-mother, having given us a very warm invitation to spend the
day with her. Accordingly, we set off in the morning, after
breakfast, and drove to the little village of B——— Green, where
we arrived about noon. Here the coachman stopped to water

his horses, and make some inquiries about the road.

“Do you know where B ’s folks live?” he asked of a man
in the yard. |

“Yes; sir B ’s folks live three miles from here.”

“Which road must I take ?”

“Straight ahead. Turn to the left when you come to the

brick school-house ; then take the right when you get to the gun-
smith’s shop, and any of the neighbors about will tell you which
is B

The directions proved correct. We soon reached the school-

’s house.”

house; then came to the gunsmith’s shop, and a few more turn-
ings brought us im sight of the low, gray farm-house, the object
of our morning’s drive. Here a very cordial and simple greeting
awaited us, and we passed the day most agreeably.

How pleasantly things look about a farm-house! There is
always much that is interesting and respectable connected with
every better labor, every useful or harmless occupation of man.

We esteem some trades for their usefulness, we admire others for

156 RURAL HOURS

their ingenuity, but it seems natural to like a farm or a garden
beyond most workshops. It needs not to be a great agricultural
establishment with scientific sheds and show dairies—for know]l-
edge and experience are necessary to appreciate the merits of such
a place ;—a simple body, who goes to enjoy and not to criticise,
will find enough to please him about any common farm, provided
the goodman be sober and industrious, the housewife be neat and
thrifty.

From the window of the room in which we were sitting, we
looked over the whole of Mr. B
field, orchard, potato-patch, and buckwheat-field. The farmer

’s farm ; the wheat-field, corn-

himself, with his wagon and horses, a boy and a man, were busy
in a hay-field, just below the house; several cows were feeding
in the meadow, and about fifty sheep were nibbling on the hill-
side. A piece of woodland was pointed out on the height abeve,
which supplied the house with fuel. We saw no evergreens there ;
the trees were chiefly maple, birch, oak, and chestnut; with us,
about the lake, every wood contains hemlock and pine.

Finding we were interested in rural matters, our good friend
offered to show us whatever we wished to see, answering all our
many questions with the sweet, old smile peculiar to herself.
She took us to the little garden; it contained potatoes, cabbages,
onions, cucumbers, and beans; a row of currant-bushes was the
only fruit; a patch of catnep, and another of mint, grew in one
corner. Our farmers, as a general rule, are proverbially indiffer-
ent about their gardens. There was no fruit on the place besides
the apple-trees of the orchard; one is surprised that cherries,
and pears, and plums, all suited to our hilly climate in this coun-

ty, should not receive more attention; they yield a desirable

THE FARM-HOUSE. 157

return for the cost and labor required to plant and look after
them.

Passing the barn, we looked in there also; a load of sweet hay
had just been thrown into the loft, and another was coming up

the road at the moment. Mr. B

worked his farm with a pair
of horses only, keeping no oxen. Half a dozen hens and some
geese were the only poultry in the yard; the eggs and feathers

were carried, in the fall, to the store at B Green, or some-

times as far as our own village.

They kept four cows; formerly they had had a much larger
dairy; but our hostess had counted her threescore and ten, and
being the only woman in the house, the dairy-work of four cows,
she said, was as much as she could well attend to. One would think
so; for she also did all the cooking, baking, washing, ironing, and
cleaning for the family, consisting of three persons; besides a
share of the sewing, knitting, and spinning. We went into her
little buttery ; here the bright tin pans were standing full of rich
milk; everything was thoroughly scoured, beautifully fresh, and
neat. A stone jar of fine yellow butter, whose flavor we knew
of old, stood on one side, and several cheeses were in press. ‘The
wood-work was all painted red.

While our kind hostess, on hospitable thought intent, was pre-
paring something nice for tea, we were invited to look about the
little sitting-room, and see ‘farm ways” in that shape. It was
both parlor and guest-chamber at the same time. In one corner
stood a maple bedstead, with a large, plump feather bed on it,
and two tiny pillows in well-bleached cases at the head. The
walls of the room were whitewashed, the wood-work was un-

painted, but so thoroughly scoured, that it had acquired a sort of

158 RURAL HOURS.

polish and oak color. Before the windows hung colored paper
blinds. Between the windows was a table, and over it hung a
small looking-glass, and a green and yellow drawing in water-
colors, the gift of a friend. On one side stood a cherry bureau ;
upon this lay the Holy Bible, and that its sacred pages had been
well studied, our friend’s daily life could testify. Near the Bible
lay a volume of religious character from the Methodist press, and
the Life of General Marion. The mantel-piece was ornamented
with peacocks’ feathers, and brass candlesticks, bright as gold;
in the fireplace were fresh sprigs of asparagus. An open cup-
board stood on one side, containing the cups and saucers, in neat
array, a pretty salt-cellar, with several pieces of cracked and
broken crockery, of a superior quality, preserved for ornament
more than use.

Such was the “square room,” as it was called. It opened into
the kitchen, and as our dear hostess was coming and going, di-
viding her time between her biscuits and her guests, very impar-
tially, at last we asked permission to follow her, and sit by her
while she was at work, admiring the kitchen quite as much as we
did the rest of her neat dwelling. The largest room in the house,
and the one most used, it was just as neat as every other corner
under the roof. The chimney was very large, according to the
approved old custom, and it was garnished all about with flat-
irons, brooms, brushes, holders, and cooking utensils, each in its
proper place. In winter, they used a stove for cooking, and in
the very coldest weather, they kept two fires burning, one in the
chimney, another in the stove. The walls were whitewashed.
There was a great deal of wood-work about the room—wainscot-

ing, dressers, and even the ceiling being of wood—and all was

THE FARM-HOUSE. 159

painted dark red. The ceiling of a farm-kitchen, especially if it
be unplastered, as this was, is often a pretty rustic sight, a sort
of store-place, all kinds of things hanging there on hooks or nails
driven into the beams; bundles of dried herbs, strings of red
peppers and of dried apples hanging in festoons, tools of various
kinds, bags of different sorts and sizes, golden ears of seed-corn
ripening, vials of physic and nostrums for man and beast, bits
of cord and twine, skeins of yarn and brown thread just spun,
and lastly, a file of newspapers. The low red ceiling of Farmer

B

seen it at other times, still, it was by no means bare, the festoons

’s kitchen was not quite so well garnished in July as we have

of apples, red peppers, and Indian corn being the only objects
wanting. By the window hung an ink bottle and a well-fingered
almanac, witty and wise, as usual. “A year or two since, an edi-
tion of the almanac was printed without the usual prognostics
regarding the winds and sunshine, but it proved a complete fail-
ure; an almanac that told nothing about next year’s weather
nobody cared to buy, and it was found expedient to restore these
important predictions concerning the future snow, hail, and sun-
shine of the county. Public opinion demanded it.

A great spinning-wheel, with a basket of carded wool, stood
in a corner, where it had been set aside when we arrived. There
was a good deal of spinning done in the family ; all the yarn for
stockings, for flannels, for the cloth worn by the men, for the col-
ored woolen dresses of the women, and all the thread for their
coarse toweling, &., &c., was spun in the house by our hostess,
or her grand-daughter, or some neighbor hired for the purpose.
Formerly, there had been six step-daughters in the family, and

then, not only all the spinning, but the weaving and dying also,

160 RURAL HOURS.

were done at home. They must have been notable women, those
six step-daughters ; we heard some great accounts of day’s spin-
ning and weaving done by them. ‘The presses and cupboards of
the house were still full to overflowing with blankets, white and
colored flannels, colored twilled coverlets for bedding, besides
sheets, table-cloths, and patched bed-quilts, all their own work.
In fact, almost all the clothing of the family, for both men and
women, and everything in the shape of bedding and toweling used
by the household, was home-made. Very few dry-goods were
purchased by them; hats and shoes, some light materials for
caps and collars, a little ribbon, and a printed calico now and
then, seemed to be all they bought. Nor was this considered at
all remarkable; such is the common way of living in many farm-
ers’ families. It has been calculated that a young woman who
knows how to spin and weave can dress herself with ease and
comfort, as regards everything necessary, for twelve dollars a
year, including the cost of the raw materials; the actual allow-
ance for clothing made by the authorities of this county, to farm-
ers’ daughters, while the property remained undivided, has been
fifteen dollars, and the estimate is said to have included every-
thing necessary for comfort, both winter and summer clothing.
The wives and daughters of our farmers are very often notable,

frugal women—perhaps one may say that they are usually so

until they go from home. With the young girls about our vil-

lages, the case is very different; these are often wildly extrava-
gant in their dress, and just as restless in following the fashions
as the richest fine lady in the land. They often spend all they
earn in finery.

Very pretty woolen shawls were shown us, made by our friend’s

THE FARM-HOUSE 161

step-daughters, after Scotch patterns; several families of Scotch
emigrants had settled in the neighborhood some thirty years since,
and had furnished their friends with the patterns of different
plaids ; whether these were Highland or Lowland, we could not
say. Some of their twilled flannels were also remarkably good
in quality and color, but these are apt to shrink in washing. They
are quite skilful dyers in scarlet, orange, green, blue, and lilac.
With the maple leaves, they dye a very neat gray for stockings,
but most of their colormg materials were purchased in the vil-
lages, dye-stuffs being an important part of the stock in trade of
all our country druggists. Most of the spinning and weaving was
in cotton or wool; the clothing and bedding was wholly of cotton
or woolen materials. A certain amount of tow was used for tow-
elmg, bagging, smock frocks and pantaloons, for summer working
clothes for the men. From time to time, a little flax was raised,
especially to make linen, chiefly for a few finer towels and table-
cloths, the luxuries of the household.

Those who live in our large towns, where they buy even their
bread and butter, their milk and radishes, have no idea of the
large amount of domestic goods, in wool and cotton, made by the
women of the rural population of the interior, even in these days
of huge factories. Without touching upon the subject of polit-
ical economy, although its moral aspect must ever be a highly
important one, it is certainly pleasant to see the women busy in

this way, beneath the family roof, and one is much disposed to

believe that the home system is healthier and safer for the indi-

vidual, in every way. Home, we may rest assured, will always

be, as a rule, the best place fora woman ; her labors, pleasures,

162 RURAL HOURS. °

and interests, should all centre there, whatever be her sphere of
life.

The food of the family, as well as their clothing, was almost
wholly the produce ef their own farm ; they dealt but little with
either grocer or butcher. In the spring, a calf was killed ; in
the fall, a sheep and a couple of hogs; once in a while, at other
seasons, they got a piece of fresh meat from some neighbor who
had killed a beef or a mutton. They rarely eat their poultry—
the hens were kept chiefly for eggs, and their geese for feathers.
The common piece of meat, day after day, was corned pork from
ther pork-barrel; they usually kept, also, some corned beef in
brine, either from their own herd, or a piece procured by some
bargain with a neighbor. The bread was made from their own
wheat, and so were the hoe-cakes and griddle-cakes from the In-
dian meal and buckwheat of their growth. Butter and cheese
from their dairy were on table at every meal, three times a day.
Pies were eaten very frequently, either of apples, pumpkins, dried
fruits, or coarse minced-meat; occasionally they had pie without
any meat for their dinner; puddings were rare; Yankee farmers
generally eating much more pastry than pudding. Mush and
milk was a common dish. They ate but few eggs, reserving them
for sale. Their vegetables were almost wholly potatoes, cabbage,
and onions, with fresh corn and beans, when in season, and baked
beans with pork in winter. Pickles were put on table at every
meal. Their sugar and molasses was made from the maple, only
keeping a little white sugar for company or sickness. They drank
cider from their own orchard. The chief luxuries of the house-

hold were tea and coffee, both procured from the “stores,” al-

THE FARM-HOUSE. 163

though it may be doubted if the tea ever saw China; if like much
of that drunk about the country, it was probably of farm growth
also.

While we were talking over these matters, and others of a
more personal nature, with our gentle old hostess, several visitors
arrived ;—probably, on this occasion, they came less to see the
mistress of the house than her carriage-load of strange company.
Be that as it may, we had the pleasure of making several new
acquaintances, and of admiring some very handsome strings of
gold beads about their necks; a piece of finery we had not seen in
a long while. Another fashion was less pleasmg. We observed
that a number of the women in that neighborhood had their hair
cropped short like men, a custom which seems all but unnatural.
Despite her seventy years and the rheumatism, our hostess had
her dark hair smoothly combed and neatly rolled up under a nice
muslin cap, made after the Methodist pattern. She was not one

to do anything unwomanly, though all B

Green set the
fashion. |
A grand-daughter of our hostess, on a visit at the farm, had
been in the meadow picking strawberries, and now returned with
a fine bowl full, the ripest and largest in the field. The table
was set; a homespun table-cloth, white as snow, laid upon it, and.
every vacant spot bemg covered by something nice, at four
o'clock we sat down to tea. Why is it that cream, milk, and
butter always taste better under the roof of a farm-house than
elsewhere? They seem to lose something of their peculiar sweet-
ness and richness after passing the bounds of the farm, especially
if they have been rattled over the pavement of a large town to

market. Country-made bread, too, is peculiar; not so light, per-

164 RURAL HOURS.

haps, nor so white as that of the baker’s, but much sweeter, and
more nourishing. Our farmers’ wives often use a little potato or
Indian meal with their wheat, which gives the bread additional
sweetness and body, as the gourmets call it, in speaking of their
wines. With such strawberries and cream, such bread and but-
ter, we could not do justice to half the good things on table.
The cup-cake and ginger-bread, the biscuits and cheese, the vari-
ous kinds of sweetmeats and stewed apples, the broiled ham and
pickles, the apple-pie and mince-pie, were thrown away upon us.
Our hostess put the nicest bits on a whole row of little plates
and saucers before each guest, and after a long drive, one can
make a very substantial meal; still, we could not eat up all the
good things, and our friend was scarcely satisfied with the result,
although we flattered ourselves we had been doing wonders.
But such strawberries and cream, such bread and butter, ought
to be enough to satisfy any reasonable tea-drinker.

As we had a drive of several miles before us, we were obliged
to say good-bye early in the afternoon, taking leave of our vener-
able friend with those feelings of unfeigned regard and respect
which the good and upright alone excite.

After such a pleasant day, we had a charming drive home, in-
cluding even the long and slow ascent of Briar Hill. The birds,
perched on the rails and bushes, sung us cheerfully on our way.
As we stopped at the tavern, at the little hamlet of Old Oaks, to
water the horses, we found a long row of empty wagons and bug-
gies, drawn up before the house, betokening a rustic merry-mak-
ing in honor of the eve of the “Fourth.” A fiddle was heard from
an upper room, and we had scarcely stopped before a couple of

youths, in holyday attire, stepped to the carriage, offering to help

THE FOURTH” 165

us alight, “presuming the ladies had come to the dance.” Be-
ing informed of their mistake, they were very civil, apologized,
and expressed their regrets. “They had hoped the ladies were
coming to the ball.” We thanked them, but were on our way

to

They bowed and withdrew, apparently rather disap-
pointed at the loss of a whole carriage full of merry-makers,
whom they had come out to receive with so much. alacrity.
Dancing was going on vigorously within; the dry, ear-piercing
scrape of a miserable violin was heard playing Zip Coon, accom-
panied by a shrill boyish voice, half screaming, half smging out
his orders: ‘‘ Gents, forward !’”—“ Ladies, same !’’—‘ Alla-maine
left !’—“ Sachay all!’—<Swing to your partners !’”—«< Fling
your ladies opposyte !’— Prummena-a-de awl!’ The direc-
tions were obeyed with great energy and alacrity ; for the scrap-
ing on the floor equalled the scraping on the violin, and the
house fairly shook with the general movement.

Half an hour more, over a familiar road, brought us to the vil-
lage, which we entered just as the sun set.

Wednesday, 4th— Warm and. pleasant. The sun, as usual on
this day, ushered in by great firing of cannon, and ringing of bells,
and hoisting of flags. Many people in the village from the country,
all in holyday trim. Public holydays, once in a while, are very
pleasant; it does one good to see everybody looking their clean-
est and gayest. It is really a cheerful spectacle to watch the
family parties in wagon-loads coming into the village at such
times ; old and young, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, and ba-

bies. Certainly we Americans are very partial to gatherings of

all sorts; such an occasion is never thrown away upon our good
folk,

166 RURAL HOURS.

There was the usual procession at noon: a prayer, reading the
Declaration of Independence, a speech, and dinner. The children
of the Sunday-school had also a little entertainment of their own.
Frequently there is a large pick-nick party on the lake, with dan-
cing, in honor of the day, but this year there was nothing of the
kind. In the afternoon matters seemed to drag a little; we met

some of the country people walking about the village, looking in

~ rather a doubtful state of enjoyment; they reminded us of the

inquiry of a pretty little French child at a party of pleasure, where
things were not going off very briskly ; fixing her large blue eyes
earnestly on an elder sister’s face, she asked anxiously, “ Hugenie,
dis mot donc est ce que je m’amuse ?’ About dusk, however, we
were enlivened by the ascent of a paper balloon, and fire-works,
rockets, serpents, fire-balls, and though not very remarkable,
everybody went to see them.

Thursday, 5th—Fine day. The locust-trees are in great
beauty. Their foliage never attains its full size until the flowers
have fallen; it then has an aftergrowth, the leaves become larger
and richer, taking their own peculiar bluish-green. The lower
branches of a group of young locusts before the door are now
sweeping the grass very beautifully. These trees have never been
trimmed ; is not the common practice of trimming our locusts a
mistake, unless one wishes for a tall tree at some particular point ?
Few of our trees throw out their branches so near the ground as
to sweep the turf in this way, and wherever the habit is natural,
the effect is very pleasmg. With the locusts, it is their large pin-
nated leaves which cause the branches to droop in this way, or
perhaps the ripening pods add their weight also, for it is only

about midsummer, or just at this season, that they bend so low as

5d aie
<a

A CAPRICIOUS LEAF. 167

to touch the grass ; the same branches which are now hanging over
the turf, in winter rise two or three feet above it.

The three-thorned acacia, or honey locust, as it is sometimes
called, if left to its natural growth, will also follow the same
fashion, its lower branches drooping gracefully, until their long
leaves sweep the grass. There is a young untrimmed tree of this
kind in the village, a perfect picture in its way, so prettily branched,
with its foliage sweeping the ground. As a general thing, are not
all our trees too much trimmed in this country ?

Friday, 6th.— Warm, half-cloudy day ; light, fitful airs, which
set the leaves dancing here and there without swaying the
branches. Of a still, summer’s day, when the foliage generally
is quiet, the eye is at times attracted by a solitary leaf, or a small
twig dancing merrily, as though bitten by a tarantula, to say nothing
of aspen leaves, which are never at rest. The leaves of the ma-
ples, on their long stalks, are much given to this trick; so are the
white birches, and the scarlet oaks, and so is the fern also. This
fluttering is no doubt caused by some light puff of air setting the
leaf in motion, and then dying away without any regular current
to follow its course; the capricious movement continues until the
force of the impulse is exhausted, and the giddy leaf has tired
itself out. At times the effect is quite singular, a single leaf or
two in rapid movement, all else still and calm; and ore might
fancy Puck, or some other mischievous elf, sitting astride the stem,
shaking his sides with laughter at the expense of the bewildered
spectator.

Saturday, 7th.—Clear, warm weather. Thermometer 78 in the
shade.

The rose-bushes about the village gardens are suffering from

ener —

168 RURAL HOURS.

the same blight which attacked them last year; it has not, how-
ever, done so much mischief this season, nor have its ravages been
so general. ‘Those bushes which stand alone, surrounded by
grass, escaped in many cases; those in our neighborhood have
been attacked, and the richer the earth, the more they seem to
have suffered.

Monday, 9th.—Brilliant, warm weather. Thermometer 80 in
the shade.

Walked in the woods ; went in search of the large two-leaved
orchis, a particular plant, which we have watched for several years,
as it is something of a rarity, having been seen only in two places
in the neighborhood. We found the large, shining leaves lying
flat on the ground, in the well-known spot, but some one had been
there before us and broken off the flower-stalk. The leaves of
this orchis are among the largest and roundest in our wocds.

The handsome, large purple-frnged orchis is also found here,
but we have not seen it this summer. ‘The country people call it
soldier’s plume ; it is one of our most showy flowers.

Tuesday, 10th.—Warm, cloudless weather. Thermometer 84
in the shade. Pleasant row on the lake toward sunset.

The water is beautifully clear; as we rowed along we could see
what was going on far below the surface. The fish kept out of
view ; we only observed a few small perch. The soil of the lake,
if one may use the phrase, varies much im character; along the
eastern shore one looks down upon a pavement of rounded gray
stones, with here and there the wreck of a dead tree, lying beneath
the waves it once shaded; coasting the western bank, one finds
reaches of clean sand, with a few shells of fresh water muscles

scattered about, and colorless leaves of last year’s growth, oak

BECKS

IDS DEE NSE (Bidens

GL Putra, Ae, de

Beckii. }

Lire

colle Lith, MY

:

THE LAKE. 169

and chestnut, lying near them still undecayed. Then, again, in
other places, the bottom is muddy, and thickly covered with a
growth of aquatic plants of various kinds. There must be a good
number of these plants in our lake, judging from those we have
already gathered or seen. ‘They vary much in their construction ;
all springing as they do from the same watery nursery, one might
expect them to be much like each other, and to differ decidedly
from those of the fields; but such is not the case. Some are
thick and rough, like the reeds, the water-lilies, and the pickerel-
weed ; but others are as fine and delicate m their foliage as those
that grow in the air. Many of those which raise their flowers
above the water bear handsome blossoms, like the lilies, the pur-
ple pickerel-weed, and the brilliant water-marigold, or Beck’s-bi-
dens, which is found in Canaderaga Lake, about twelve miles from
us; others are dull and unsightly, and some of these form an
ugly patch in shallow spots, near our wharf, for a few weeks in
August.

But this fringe of reeds and plants is only seen here and there in
shallow spots ; a few strokes of the oar will carry a boat at once into
water much too deep to be fathomed by the eye. The depth of
the lake is usually given at a hundred and fifty feet. It has no
tributaries beyond a few nameless brooks, and is chiefly fed by
springs in its own bosom. Of course, where such is the case, the
amount of water varies but little ; it has never overflowed its banks,
and when the water is called low, a stranger would hardly per-
ceive the fact.

This afternoon we rowed across Black-bird Bay, and followed
the shady western bank some distance. Landed and gathered

wild flowers, meadow-sweet, white silk-weed, clematis, and Alle-
8

170 RURAL HOURS.

ghany vine, adlumea. This is the season for the climbing plants
to flower ; they are usually later than their neighbors. The Alle-
ghany vine, with its pale pink clusters and very delicate foliage, is
very common in some places, and so is the common clematis.

Observed, also, several vines of the glycine, Aptos tuberosa,
though its handsome purple flowers have not yet appeared. This
plant has been recently carried to Europe by a French gentleman,
sent out. to this country by his government for scientific purpo-
ses. He supposes that it may be introduced as a common article
of food, to take, m some measure, the place of the potato. The
root has a pleasant taste, and is said to be much eaten by some
tribes of Indians. A kind of one-seeded pea, growing in the west-
ern part of the county, Psoralea, was also carried to France, with
the view of turning it to account m the same way. This last is
not found in our neighborhood ; but the glycine, or ground-nut, is
not uncommon in our thickets. Whether the plan of making
these a part of the common food of France will succeed or not,
time alone can decide. It usually takes more than one genera-
tion to make a change in national diet. Potatoes were several
centuries coming into favor cn the Continent of Europe ; and dur-
ing the last scarcity in Great Britain, the Scotch and English did
not take very kindly to the Indian corn, although it is certainly
one of the sweetest grains in the world. After a change of this
kind has once been made, however, and people have become accus-
tomed to the novelty, whatever it may be, there is generally a
sort of reaction in its favor, until presently no one can do without
it. This has been strikingly the case with potatoes, in the way
of food, and with tea and coffee in the way of drinks.

Wednesday, 11th.—Very warm. Thermometer 89 in the cool-

HAY-MAXKING. 171

est position. Bright sunshine, with much air. Long drive in the
evening. The chestnuts are in flower, and look beautifully. They

are one of our richest trees when in blossom, and being common
about the lake, are very ornamental to the country, at this sea-

son; they look as though they wore a double crown of sunshine
about their flowery heads. The sumachs are also in bloom, their
regular yellowish spikes showing from every thicket.

The hay-makers were busy on many farms after sunset this
evening. There are fewer mowers in the hay-fields with us than
in the Old World. Four men will often clear a field where, per-
haps, a dozen men and women would be employed in France or
England. This evenmg we passed a man with a horse-rake
gathering his hay together by himself. As we went down the
valley, he had just begun his task; when we returned, an hour
and a half later, with the aid of this contrivance, he had nearly
done his job.

One day, as we were driving along the bank of the lake, a year
or two since, we saw, for the first time in this country, several
young women at work in a hay-field; they looked quite pictur-
esque with their colored sun-bonnets, and probably they did not
find the work very hard, for they seemed to take it as a frolic.

We also chanced, on one occasion, to see a woman ploughing
in this county, the only instance of the kind we have ever ob-
served in our part of the world. Very possibly she may have
been a foreigner, accustomed to hard work in the fields, in her
own country. In Germany, we remember to have once seen a
woman and a cow harnessed together, dragging the plough, while
aman, probably the husband, was driving both. I have forgot-

ten whether he had a whip or not. This is the only instance in

173 RURAL HOURS.

which we ever saw a woman in harness, though in travelling
over Europe, one often sees the poor creatures toiling so hard,
and looking so wretched, that one’s heart aches for them. We
American women certainly owe a debt of gratitude to our coun-
trymen for their kindness and consideration for us generally.
Gallantry may not always take a graceful form in this part of the
world, and mere flattery may be worth as little here as elsewhere,
but there is a glow of generous feeling toward woman in the hearts
of most American men, which is highly honorable to them as a
nation and as individuals. In no country is the protection given to
woman’s helplessness more full and free—in no country is the
assistance she receives from the stronger arm so general—and
nowhere does her weakness meet with more forbearance and con-
sideration. Under such circumstances, it must be woman’s own
fault if she be not thoroughly respected also. The position ac-
corded to her is favorable; it remains for her to fill it in a man-
ner worthy her own sex, gratefully, kindly, and simply; with
truth and modesty of heart and life; with unwavering fidelity of
feeling and principle; with patience, cheerfulness, and sweetness
of temper—no unfit return to those who smooth the daily path
for her.

— Thursday, 12th—Very warm and brilliant weather. Ther-
mometer 90 in the shade. Drive in the evening over the High-
borough Hills; the roads very dusty; fortunately, we left the
cloud “in our wake,” as the sailors say. The young fruits are
getting their ruddy color in the orchards and gardens, and the
grain is taking its golden tinge. The fields are looking very rich
and. full of promise.

A DARK BOW. 173

Friday, 13th.—Very warm. Thermometer 92 in the shade,
with much air from the south-west. Though very warm, and the
power of the sun great, yet the weather has not been close. We
have had fine airs constantly ; often quite a breeze. It is, indeed,
singular that so much air should collect no clouds.

Drive down the valley in the evening. The new-shorn mead-
ows look beautifully, bordered as they are in many places by
the later elder-bushes, now loaded with white flowers. The ear-
lier kind, which blooms in May, more common in the woods, is
already ripening its red. berries.

About eight o’clock there was a singular appearance in the
heavens: a dark bow, very clearly marked, spanned the valley
from east to west, commencing at the point where the sun had
just set, the sky, at the same time, being apparently cloudless.
At one moment two other fainter bows were seen; the principal
arch was visible, perhaps, half an hour, fading slowly away with
the twilight. Neither of our party remembered to have seen any-
thing like it. In superstitious times it would doubtless have been
connected with some public calamity.

Saturday, 14th.—A light shower this mornmg. Just enough
to lay the dust and refresh the air, which now blows cool and
moist from the northward. Shaded, vapory sky; most grateful
relief after the hot sun and dry air of the last ten days. No
thunder or lightning. |

Monday, 16th.—Rather cooler; thermometer 79. Fine day.
Walked in the woods.

Found many of the Philadelphia, or orange lilies, scattered
about singly, as usual. They like to grow in woods and groves,

and are often found among the fern. The Canadian, or yellow lily,

174 RURAL HOURS.

is also in flower, growing in lower and more open grounds; a
bit of meadow-land, on the border of one of our brooks, is now
brilliantly colored with these handsome flowers. The very showy
Martagon, or Turk’s-cap lily, also belongs to our neighborhood.
Last summer a noble plant—a pyramid of twenty red blossoms on
one stalk—was found growing in a marshy spot on the hill, at
the Cliffs.

Brought home a beautiful bunch of these orange lilies, with
the leaves of the sweet-fern, and the white flowers of the fragrant
early wintergreen.

Tuesday, 17th.—Rambled about Mill Island and the woods
beyond. The red wooden grist-mill, standing here, is the oldest
and most important of the neighborhood. In dry seasons, when
water fails in the lesser streams, grain has been brought here
from farms twenty miles distant. This present summer, however,
the water has been so low, that the wheels have stopped.

The low saw-mill, on the farther bank, is one of half a dozen
within a few miles. It does a deal of work. Some of the logs
float down the lake and river; others are drawn here on the snow
in winter; but the basin above the dam is generally well filled
with them. As the stream runs a mere rivulet now, many of the
logs are lodged on the mud, and the mill is idle. We rarely see
the river so low.

We are told that for some years after the village was com-
menced, Mill Island was a favorite resort of the Indians, who, at
that time, came frequently in parties to the new settlement, re-
maining here for months together. The island was then covered
with wood, and they seem to have chosen it for their camp, in

preference to other situations. Possibly it may have been a place

INDIANS. 175

of resort to their fishing and hunting parties when the country
was a wilderness. Now they come very seldom, and singly, or
in families, craving permission to build a shanty of boughs or
boards, in order to ply their trade of basket-makers. They no
Jonger encamp on the island itself, for the oak by the bridge is
almost the only tree standing on it, and they still love the woods ;
but three out of the four families who have been here during the
Jast ten years, have chosen the neighboring groves for their halt-
ing-place.

There are already many parts of this country where an Indian
is never seen. There are thousands and hundreds of thousands
of the white population who have never laid eyes upon a red
man. But this ground lies within the former bounds of the Six
Nations, and a remnant of the great tribes of the Iroquois still
linger about their old haunts, and occasionally cross our path.
The first group that we chance to see strike us strangely, appear-
ing as they do in the midst of a civilized community with the
characteristics of their wild race still clinging to them; and when
it is remembered that the land over which they now wander as
strangers, in the midst of an alien race, was so lately their own
-—the heritage of their fathers—it is impossible to behold them
without a feeling of peculiar interest.

Standing at the window, one summer’s afternoon, our attention
was suddenly fixed by three singular figures approaching the
house. More than one member of our household had never yet
seen an Indian, and unaware that any were in the neighborhood, a
second glance was necessary to convince us that these visitors must
belong to the red race, whom we had long; been so anxious to see.

They came slowly toward the door, walking singly and silently,

17 6 RURAL HOURS.

wrapped in blankets, bareheaded and barefooted. Without
knocking or speaking, they entered the house with a noiseless
step, and stood silently near the open door. We gave them a
friendly greeting, and they proved to be women of the Oneida
tribe, belonging to a family who had encamped in the woods the
day before, with the purpose of selling their baskets in the village.
Meek in countenance, with delicate forms and low voices, they
had far more of the peculiarities of the red race about them than
one would look for in a tribe long accustomed to intercourse with
the whites, and a portion of whom have become more than half
civilized. Only one of the three could speak English, and she
seemed to do so with effort and reluctance. They were dressed
in gowns of blue calico, rudely cut, coarsely stitched together,
and so short as to show their broadcloth leggings worked with
beads. Their heads were entirely bare, their straight, black hair
hanging loose about their shoulders, and, although it was mid-
summer at the time, they were closely wrapped in coarse white
blankets. We asked their names. ‘“ Wallee’”’—‘ Awa”’—“ Coot-

lee’

was the answer. Of what tribe? ‘ Oneida,” was the re-
ply, in a voice low and melancholy as the note of the whip-poor-
will, giving the soft Italian sound to the vowels, and four syllables
to the word. They were delicately made, of the usual height of
American women, and their features were good, without being
pretty. About their necks, arms, and ankles, they wore strings
of cheap ornaments, pewter medals, and coarse glass beads, with
the addition of a few scraps of tin, the refuse of some tin-shop
passed on their way. One, the grandmother, was a Christian ;
the other two were Pagans. ‘There was something startling and

very painful in hearing these poor creatures within our own com-

——

INDIANS. 177
munity, and under our own roof, declaring themselves heathens!
They paid very little attention to the objects about them, until
the youngest of the three observed a small Chinese basket on a
table near her. She rose silently, took the basket in her hand,
examined it carefully, made a single exclamation of pleasure, and
then exchanged a few words with her companions in their own
wild but musical tongue. They all seemed struck with this spe-
cimen of Chinese ingenuity. They asked, as usual, for bread and
cold meat, and a supply was cheerfully given them, with the ad-
dition of some cake, about which they appeared to care very
little. In the mean time a messenger had been sent to one of the
shops of the village, where toys and knicknacks for children were
sold, and he returned with a handful of copper rings and brooches,
pewter medals, and bits of bright ribbons, which were presented
to our guests; the simple creatures looking much gratified, as
well as surprised, although their thanks were brief, and they still

kept up the true Indian etiquette of mastering all emotion. They

were, indeed, very silent, and unwilling to talk, so that it was not

easy to gather much information from them; but their whole ap-
pearance was so much more Indian than we had been prepared
for, while their manners were so gentle and womanly, so free
from anything coarse or rude in the midst of their untutored ig-
norance, that we were much pleased with the visit. Later in the
day we went to their camp, as they always call their halting-
place; here we found several children and two men of the family.
These last were evidently full-blooded Indians, with every mark
of their race stamped upon them; but, alas! not a trace of the
“brave” about either. Both had that heavy, sensual, spiritless

expression, the stamp of vice, so painful to behold on the human
8*

178 RURAL HOURS.

countenance. They had thrown off the blanket, and were equip-
ped in ragged coats, pantaloons, and beavers, from the cast-off
clothing of their white neighbors, with the striking addition, how-
ever, of bits of tin to match those of the squaws. Some of these
scraps were fastened round their hats, others were secured on
their breasts and in the button-holes, where the great men of the
Old World wear diamond stars and badges of honor. They were
cutting bows and arrows for the boys of the village, of ash-wood,
and neither of them spoke to us; they either did not, or would
not understand our companion, when addressed in English. The
women and children were sittmg on the ground, busy with their
baskets, which they make very neatly, although their patterns are
all simple. They generally dye the strips of ash with colors
purchased in the villages from the druggists, using only now and
then, for the same purpose, the juices of leaves and berries, when
these are in season, and easily procured.

Since the visit of the Oneida squaws, several other parties have
been in the village. The very next season a family of three gen-
erations made their appearance at the door, claiming an hereditary
acquaintance with the master of the house. They were much
less wild than our first visitors, having discarded the blanket en-
tirely, and speaking English very well. The leader and patriarch
of the party bore a Dutch name, given him, probably, by some of
his friends on the Mohawk Flats; and he was, moreover, entitled
to write Reverend before it, being a Methodist minister—the Rev.

Mr. Kunkerpott. He was notwithstanding a full-blooded Indian,

with the regular copper-colored complexion, and high cheek-
bones; the outline of his face was decidedly Roman, and his long,

gray hair had a wave which is rare among his people; his mouth,

INDIANS. 179

where the savage expression is usually most strongly marked, was
small, with a kindly expression about it. Altogether he was a
strange mixture of the Methodist preacher and the Indian patri-
arch. His son was much more savage than himself in appear-
ance—a silent, cold-lookng man; and the grandson, a boy of ten
or twelve, was one of the most uncouth, impish-looking creatures
we ever beheld. He wore a long-tailed coat twice too large for
him, with boots of the same size, and he seemed particularly proud
of these last, looking at them from time to time with great satis-
faction, as he went tottermg alone. The child’s face was very
wild, and he was bareheaded, with an unusual quantity of long,
black hair streaming about his head and shoulders. While the
grandfather was conversing about old times, the boy diverted
himself by twirling round on one leg, a feat which would have
seemed almost impossible, booted as he was, but which he never-
theless accomplished with remarkable dexterity, spinning round
and round, his arms extended, his large black eyes staring stu-
pidly before him, his mouth open, and his long hair flying in every
direction, as wild a looking creature as one could wish to see.
We expected every moment that he would fall breathless and
exhausted, like a dancing dervish, supposing that the child had
been taught this accomplishment as a means of pleasing his civil-
ized friends; but no, he was only amusing himself, and kept his
footing to the last. |

Some farther acquaintance with the Indians, who still occupy
lands reserved for them by the government in the western part of
the State, has only confirmed the impressions produced by these
first interviews. Civilization, in its earliest approaches, seems to pro-

duce a different effect upon the men and the women, the former

a

ee

| 180 RURAL HOURS.

losing, and the latter gaining by it. The men, when no longer

warriors and hunters, lose their native character; the fire of their

savage energy is extinguished, and the dull and blackened embers
alone remain. Unaccustomed by habit, prejudice, hereditary in-
| stinct, to labor, they cannot work, and very generally sink into
worthless, drinking idlers. Many of them are seen in this condi-

tion in the neighborhood of their own lands. The women, on the

contrary, have always been accustomed to toil while the warriors
| were idle, and it is much more easy for them to turn from field
| labors to household tasks, than for the men to exchange the ex-
citement of war and hunting for quiet, regular, agricultural or
| mechanic pursuits. In the savage state, the women appear very
| inferior to the men, but in a half-civilized condition, they have
| much the advantage over the stronger sex. They are rarely
| beautiful, but often very pleasmg; their gentle expression, meek
and subdued manner, low, musical voices, and mild, dark eyes, ex-
cite an interest in their favor, while one turns with pain and dis-
cust from the brutal, stupid, drunken countenances too often seen
among the men. Many a young girl might be found to-day |
among the half-civilized tribes, whose manner and appearance
would accord with one’s idea of the gentle Pocahontas; but it is

rare, indeed, that a man is seen among them who would make a

Powhattan, a Philip, or an Uncas. And yet, unfavorable as their
appearance is, there are few even of the most degraded who,
| when aroused, will not use the poetical, figurative speech, and the
dignified, impressive gesture of their race. ‘The contrast between
the degraded aspect they bear every day, and these sudden in-
stinctive flashes, is very striking. Instances are not wanting,

however, in which men, of purely Indian blood, have con-

rg

INDIANS. 181

quered the many obstacles in their path, and now command the
sympathy and respect of their white brethren by the energy and
perseverance they have shown in mastering a new position among
civilized men.

The dress of the women is also more pleasing than that of the
men, preserving as they do something of a characteristic costume.
They are generally wrapped in blankets, and bareheaded, or those
of the richer families wear a round beaver, which makes them
look a little like the brown peasant girls of Tuscany ; they seem to
be the only females in the country who do not make a profound
study of the monthly fashion-plates. The men are almost al-
ways dressed in shabby clothes, cut upon white patterns. The

women either dislike to speak English, or they are unable to do

so, for they are very laconic indeed in conversation; many of
them, although understanding what is said, will only answer you
by smiles and signs; but as they do not aim as much as the men
at keeping up the cold dignity of their race, this mute lancuage
is often kindly and pleasing. Many of those who carry about
their simple wares for sale in the neighborhood of their own vil-
lages would be remarked for their amiable expression, gentle
manner, and low, musical voices. They still carry their children
tied up in a blanket at their backs, supporting them by a band
passing round the forehead, which brings the weight chiefly upon
the head.

It is easy to wish these poor people well; but surely some-

thing more may justly be required of us—of those who have
taken their country and their place on the earth.. The time
seems at last to have come when their own eyes are opening to

the real good of civilization, the advantages of knowledge, the

—— ESS

182 RURAL HOURS.

blessings of Christianity. Let us acknowledge the strong claim
they have upon us, not in word only, but in deed also. The
native intellect of the red men who peopled this part of America
surpassed that of many other races laboring under the curses of
savage life; they have shown bravery, fortitude, religious feel-
ing, eloquence, imagination, quickness of intellect, with much dig-
nity of manner; and if we are true to our duty, now at the mo-
ment when they are making of their own accord a movement in
the path of improvement, perhaps the day may not be distant
when men of Indian blood may be numbered among the wise and
the good, laboring in behalf of our common country.

It is painful, indeed, to remember how little has yet been done
for the Indian durmg the three centuries since he and the white
man first met on the Atlantic coast. But such is only the com-
mon course of things; a savage race is almost invariably corrupted
rather than improved by its earliest contact with a civilized peo-
ple; they suffer from the vices of civilization before they learn
justly to comprehend its merits. It is with nations as with in-
dividuals—amelioration is a slow process, corruption a rapid one.

Wednesday, 18th.—Warm, brilliant weather. Thermometer 89,
with much dry air. Walked in the woods.

That ghost-like plant, the Indian-pipe, is in flower, and quite
common here—sometimes growing singly, more frequently sev-
eral together. The whole plant, about a span high, is entirely
colorless, looking very much as if it were cut out of Derbyshire
spar; the leaves are replaced by white scales, but the flower is
large and perfect, and from the root upward, it is wholly of un-
tarnished white. One meets with it from June until late in Septem-

ber; at first, the flower is nodding, when it really looks some-

DEW-DROP—WINTERGREENS. 183

thing like the cup of a pipe; gradually, however, it erects itself
as the seed ripens, and turns black when it decays. I have seen
a whole cluster of them bordered with black—in half-mourning,
as it were—though of a healthy white within this line. It was
probably some blight which had affected them in this way.

The pretty little dew-drop, Dalibarda repens of botanists, is
also in Iillogsarm—e, delicate, modest little flower, opening singly
among dark green leaves, which look much like those of the vio-
let; it is one of our most common wood-plants; the leaves fre-
quently remain green through the winter. The name of dew-drop
has probably been given to this flower from its blooming about
the time when the summer dews are the heaviest.

The one-sided wintergreen is also in blossom, with its little
greenish-white flowers all turned in the same direction; it is one
of the commonest plants we tread under foot in the forest. This
is a wintergreen region, all the varieties being found, I believe, in
this county. Both the glossy pipsissima and the pretty spotted
wintergreen, with its variegated leaves, are common here; so is
the fragrant shin-leaf; and the one-flowered pyrola, rare in most
parts of the country, is also found in our woods.

Observed the yellow diervilla or bush-honeysuckle still in flower.
The hemlocks still show the light green of their young shoots,
which grow dark very slowly.

Thursday, 19th.—Warm, clear day ; thermometer 88.

It happens that the few humble antiquities of our neighbor-
hood are all found lying together near the outlet of the lake ;
they consist of a noted rock, the ruins of a bridge, and the re-
mains of a military work,

The rock lies in the lake, a stone’s throw from the shore ; it is

LE i ee TE eee

<?

184 RURAL HOURS.

a smooth, rounded fragment, about four feet high; the waters

sometimes, in very warm seasons, leave it nearly dry, but they

have never, I believe, overflowed it. There is nothing remarka- _

ble in the rock itself, though it is perhaps the largest of the few
that show themselves above the surface of our lake; but this
stone is said to have been a noted rallying-point with the In-
dians, who were in the habit of appointing meetings between dif-
ferent parties at this spot. From the Mohawk country, from the
southern hunting-grounds on the banks ot the Susquehannah, and
from the Oneida region, they came through the wilderness to this
common rendezvous at the gray rock, near the outlet of the lake.
Such is the tradition; probably it is founded in truth, for it has
prevailed here since the settlement of the country, and it is of a
nature not likely to have been thought of by a white man, who,
if given to inventing anything of the kind, would have attempted
something more ambitious. Its very simplicity gives it weight,
and it is quite consistent with the habits of the Indians, and their
nice observation; for the rock, though unimportant, is yet the
largest in sight, and its position near the outlet would make it a
very natural waymark to them. Such as it is, this, moreover, is
the only tradition, in a positive form, connected with the Indians
preserved among us; with this single exception, the red man has
left no mark here, on hill or dale, lake or stream.

From tradition we step to something more positive; from the
dark ages we come to the dawn of history. On the bank of the
river are found the ruins of a bridge, the first made at this point
by the white man. Among the mountain streams of the Old
World are many high, narrow, arches of stone, built more than a

thousand years since, still standing to-day in different stages of

RUINS. | 185

picturesque decay. Our ruinsare more rude than those. In the
summer of 1786, a couple of emigrants, father and son, arrived
on the eastern bank of the river, intending to cross it; there was
no village here then—a single log-cabin and a deserted block-
house stood on the spot, however, and they hoped to find at least
the shelter of walls and a roof. But there was no bridge over
the river, nor boat to ferry them across: some persons, under
such circumstances, would have forded the stream ; others might
have swam across; our emigrants took a shorter course—they
made a bridge. Each carried his axe, as usual, and choosing one
of the tall pines standing on the bank, one of the old race which
then filled the whole valley, they soon felled the tree, giving it
such an inclination as threw it across the channel, and their bridge
was built—they crossed on the trunk. The stump of that tree is
still standing on the bank among the few ruins we have to boast
of ; it is fast mouldermg away, but it has outlasted the lives of
both the men who felled the tree—the younger of the two, the
son, having died in advanced old age, a year or two since.

The military work alluded to was on a greater scale, and con-
nected with an expedition of some importance. In 1779, when
General Sullivan was ordered against the Indians in the western
part of the State, to punish them for the massacres of Wyoming
and Cherry Valley, a detachment of his forces, under General
Clinton, was sent through this valley. Ascending the Mohawk,
to what was sometimes called the “portage” over the hills to this
lake, they cut a road through the forest, and transporting their
boats to our waters, launched them at the head of the lake, and
rowed down to the site of the present village. Here they lay

encamped some little time, finding the river too much encum-

et |

186 RURAL HOURS.

bered with flood-wood to allow their boats to pass. To remove
this difficulty, General Clinton ordered a dam to be built at the
outlet, thus raismg the lake so much, that when the work was
suddenly opened, the waters rushed through with such power,
that they swept the channel clear; by this means, the troops
were enabled to pass in their boats from these very sources of the
stream to the rendezvous at Tioga Point, a distance of more than
two hundred miles, by the course of this winding river. This
is the only incident which has connected our secluded lake with
historical events, and it is believed that upon no other occasion
have troops, on a warlike errand, passed through the valley.
Probably in no other instance have so large a number of boats
ever floated on our quiet lake, and we can scarcely suppose that
a fleet of this warlike character will ever again, to the end of time,
be collected here. Some few traces of this military dam may
still be seen, though every year they are becoming more indistinct.

Friday, 20th—Warm; thermometer 85, with high wind from
the southward. Light sprinkling showers through the day, barely
enough to lay the dust. No thunder or lightning.

The fire-flies flitting about this evening in the rain; they do not
mind a showery evening much; we have often seen them of a
rainy night, carrying their little lanterns about with much uncon-
cer; itis only a hard and driving shower which sends them home.
These little creatures seem to have favorite grounds ; there is a
pretty valley in the county, about twenty miles from us, where
they are very numerous ; one sees them dancing over those mead-
ows in larger parties than about our own.

Saturday, 21st——Fine weather ; heat not so great; thermome-

ter 77.

ee a Ee hon ele

PINES. 187

Our little fruit-venders are beginning to bring whortleberries to
market ; they are very plenty on our hills, being common in the
woods, and abundant in half-cleared lands. his little shrub, in-
cluding all its numerous varieties, spreads over a broad extent of
country, growing alike within the forest, in waste lands, upon hills
and in swamps; it is well known that on this Western Continent
it fills the place held in Europe by the heath. Though much less
showy than the golden broom or the purple heather, the Euro-
pean plants of waste grounds, the whortleberry has the higher
merit of producing an edible fruit, which we still find very pleas-
ant, though now supplied with so many luxuries of the kind by
horticulture. ‘To the poor Indians the whortleberries must have
been very precious, yieldmg fruit for their benefit during three
months of the year, more or less.

The northern lights are brilliant this evening ; for some months
they have been less frequent than usual. We have them, at in-
tervals, during all seasons.

Monday, 28d.—Just at the point where the village street be-
comes a road and turns to climb the hill-side, there stands a group
of pines, a remnant of the old forest. There are many trees like
these among the woods; far and near such may be seen rising
from the hills, now tossmg their arms in the stormy winds, now
drawn in still and dark relief against the glowing evening sky.
Their gaunt, upright forms standing about the hill-tops, and the
ragged gray stumps of those which have fallen, dotting the
smooth fields, make up the sterner touches in a scene whose gen-
eral aspect is smiling. But although these old trees are common
upon the wooded heights, yet the group on the skirts of the vil-

lage stands alone among the fields of the valley; their nearer

188 RURAL HOURS.

brethren have all been swept away, and these are left in isolated
company, differmg im character from all about them, a monument
of the past.

It is upon a narrow belt of land, a highway and a corn-field
on one side, a brook and an orchard on the other, that these trees
are rooted; a strip of woodland connected with the forest on the
hills above, and suddenly cut off where i+ approaches the first
buildings of the village. There they stand, silent spectators of
the wonderful changes that have come over the valley. Hun-
dreds of winters have passed since the cones which contained the
seed of that grove fell from the parent tree; centuries have
elapsed since their heads emerged from the topmost wave of the
sea of verdure to meet the sunshine, and yet it is but yesterday
that their shadows first fell, in full length, upon the sod at their
feet.

Sixty years since, those trees belonged to a wilderness; the
bear, the wolf, and the panther brushed their trunks, the ungain-
ly moose and the agile deer browsed at their feet; the savage
hunter crept stealthily about their roots, and painted braves pass-
ed noiselessly on the war-path beneath their shade. How many
successive generations of the red man have trod the soil they over-
shadowed, and then sat down in their narrow graves—how many
herds of wild creatures have chased each other through that wood,
and left their bones to bleach among the fern and moss, there is
no human voice can tell. We only know that the summer winds,
when they filled the canvas of Columbus and Cabot, three hun-
dred years ago, came sweeping over these forest pines, murmur-
ing then as we hear them murmur to-day.

There is no record to teach us even the name of the first white

PINES. 189

man who saw this sequestered valley, with its limpid lake; it was
probably some bold hunter from the Mohawk, chasing the deer,
or in quest of the beaver. But while towns were rising on the
St. Lawrence and upon the sea-board, this inland region lay still
unexplored ; long after trading-houses had been opened, and fields
had been tilled, and battles had been fought to the north, south,
east, ay, and even at many poimts westward, those pines stood
in the heart of a silent wilderness. This little lake lay embedded
in a forest until after the great struggle of the Revolution was
over. A few months after the war was brought to an honorable
close, Washington made a journey of observation among the in-
land waters of this part of the country; writing to a friend in
France, he names this little lake, the source of a river, which, four
degrees farther south, flows into the Chesapeake in near neigh-
borhood with his own Potomac. As he passed along through a
half-wild region, where the few marks of civilization then existing
bore the blight of war, he conceived the outline of many of those
improvements which have since been carried out by others, and
have yielded so rich a revenue of prosperity. It is a pleasmg
reflection to those who live here, that while many important
places in the country were never honored by his presence, Wash-
ington has trod the soil about our lake. But even at that late
day, when the great and good man came, the mountains were
still clothed in wood to the water’s edge, and mingled with giant
oaks and ashes, those tall pines waved above the valley.

At length, nearly three long centuries after the Genoese had
crossed the ocean, the white man came to plant a home on this
spot, and it was then the great change began; the axe and the

saw, the forge and the wheel, were busy from dawn to dusk, cows

190 RURAL HOURS.

and swine fed in thickets whence the wild beasts had fled, while
the ox and the horse drew away in chains the fallen trunks of the
forest. The tenants of the wilderness shrunk deeper within
its bounds with every changing moon; the wild creatures fled
away within the receding shades of the forest, and the red man
followed on their track; his day of power was gone, his hour of
pitiless revenge had passed, and the last echoes of the war-whoop
were dying away forever among these hills, when the pale-faces
laid their hearth-stones by the lake shore. The red man, who
for thousands of years had been lord of the land, no longer treads
the soil; he exists here only in uncertain memories, and in for-
gotten grayes.

Such has been the change of the last half century. Those
who from childhood have known the cheerful dwellings of the vil-
lage, the broad and fertile farms, the well-beaten roads, such as
they are to-day, can hardly credit that this has all been done so
recently by a band of men, some of whom, white-headed and
leaning on their staves, are still among us. Yet such is the simple
truth. This village lies just on the borders of the tract of coun-
try which was opened and peopled immediately after the Revolu-
tion; it was among the earliest of those little colonies from the
sea-board which struck into the wilderness at that favorable mo-
ment, and whose rapid growth and progress in civilization have
become a by-word. Other places, indeed, have far surpassed
this quiet borough; Rochester, Buffalo, and others of a later
date, have become great cities, while this remains a rural village ;
still, whenever we pause to recall what has been done in this se-
eluded valley during the lifetime of one generation, we must needs

be struck with new astonishment. And throughout every act of

PINES. 191
the work, those old pines were there. Unchanged themselves,
they stand surrounded by objects over all of which a great
change has passed. The open valley, the half-shorn hills, the
paths, the flocks, the buildings, the woods in their second growth,
even the waters in the different images they reflect on their bo-
som, the very race of men who come and go, all are different
from what they were; and those calm old trees seem to heave
the sigh of companionless age, as their coned heads rock slowly
in the winds.

The aspect of the wood tells its own history, so widely does it
differ in character from the younger groves waving in gay luxu-
riance over the valley. In the midst of smooth fields it speaks
so clearly of the wilderness, that it is not the young orchard of
yesterday’s planting, but the aged native pines which seem the
strangers on the ground. The pine of forest growth never fails
to have a very marked character of its own; the gray shaft rises
clear and unbroken by bend or bough, to more than half its great
elevation, thence short horizontal limbs in successive fan-like
growth surround the trunk to its summit, which is often crowned
with a low crest of upright branches. The shaft is very fine
from its great height and the noble simplicity of its lines; im col-
oring, it is a pure clear gray, having the lightest and the smooth-
est bark of all its tribe, and only occasionally mottled with patches
of lichens. The white pine of this climate gathers but few mosses,
unless in very moist situations; the very oldest trees are often
quite free from them. Indeed, this is a tree seldom seen with the
symptoms of a half-dead and decaying condition about it, like so
many others; the gray line of a naked branch may be observed

here and there, perhaps, a sign of age, but it generally preserves

192 RURAL HOURS.

to the very last an appearance of vigor, as though keeping death
at bay until struck to the heart, or laid low from the roots. It
is true, this appearance may often prove deceptive ; still, it is a
peculiarity of our pine, that it preserves its verdure until the very
last, unlike many other trees which are seen in the forest, half
green, half gray, and lifeless.

The pine of the lawns or open groves and the pine of the forest
differ very strikingly in outline; the usual pyramidal or conical
form of the evergreen is very faintly traced on the short, irregular
limbs of the forest tree; but what is lost in luxuriance and ele-
gance is more than replaced by a peculiar character of wild dig-
nity, as it raises its stern head high above the lesser wood, far
overtopping the proudest rank of oaks. And yet, in their rudest
shapes, they are never harsh; as we approach them, we shall al-
ways find something of the calm of age and the sweetness of na-
ture to soften their aspect; there is a grace in the slow waving
of their limbs in the higher air, which never fails ; there is a mys-
terious melody in their breezy murmurs; there is an emerald lieht
in their beautiful verdure, which les in unfading wreaths, fresh
and clear, about the heads of those old trees. The effect of light
and shade on the foliage of those older forest pines is indeed much
finer than what we see among their younger neighbors ; the tufted
branches, in their horizontal growth, are beautifully touched with
circlets of a clear light, which is broken up and lost amid the con-
fused medley of branches in trees of more upright growth. The
long brown cones are chiefly pendulous, in clusters, from the
upper branches; some seasons they are so numerous on the
younger trees as to give their heads a decided brown coloring.

The grove upon the skirts of the village numbers, perhaps, some

PINES. 193

forty trees, varying in their girth from five or six to twelve feet ;
and in height, from a hundred and twenty to a hundred and sixty
feet. Owing to their unscreened position and their height, these

trees may be clearly distinguished for miles, whether from the lake,

the hills, or the roads about the country—a land-mark overtopping
the humble church-spires, and every object raised by man within
the bounds of the valley. Their rude simplicity of outline, the
erect, unbending trunks, their stern, changeless character, and their
scanty drapery of foliage, unconsciously lead one to fancy them an
image of some band of savage chiefs, emerging in a long, dark line
from the glen in their rear, and gazing in wonder upon their former
hunting-grounds in its altered aspect.

The preservation of those old pines must depend entirely upon
the will of their owner ; they are private property; we have no
right to ask that they may be spared, but it is impossible to be-
hold their hoary trunks and crested heads without feeling a hope
that they may long continue unscathed, to look down upon the
village which has sprung up at their feet. They are certamly
one of the most striking objects in the county, and we owe a debt
of gratitude to the hand which has so lone preserved them, one
of the honors of our neighborhood. It needs but a few short
minutes to bring one of these trees to the ground ; the rudest boor
passing along the highway may easily do the deed; but how
many years must pass ere its equal stand on the same spot! Let
us pause to count the days, the months, the years; let us num-
ber the generations that must come and go, the centuries that must
roll onward, ere the seed sown from this year’s cones shall pro-
duce a wood like that before us. The stout arm so ready to raise

the axe to-day, must grow weak with age, it must drop into the
9

194 RURAL HOURS.

grave ; its bone and sinew must crumble into dust long before
another tree, tall and great as those, shall have grown from the cone
in our hand. Nay, more, all the united strength of sinew, added
to all the powers of mind, and all the force of will, of millions of
men, can do no more toward the work than the poor ability of a

single arm; these are of the deeds which time alone can perform.

But allowing even that hundreds of years hence other trees were

at length to succeed these with the same dignity of height and
age, no other younger wood can ever claim the same connection as
this, with a state of things new passed away forever; they cannot
have that wild, stern character of the aged forest pines. This
little town itself must fall to decay and ruin ; its streets must be-
come choked with bushes and brambles; the farms of the valley
must be anew buried within the shades of a wilderness; the wild
deer and the wolf, and the bear, must return from beyond the
great lakes; the bones of the savage men buried under our feet
must arise and move again in the chase, ere trees like those,
with the spirit of the forest in every line, can stand on the
same ground in wild dignity of form like those eld pmes now
looking down upon our homes.

Tuesday, 24th.—Thermometer 84 in the shade at three o’clock.
Still, clear, and dry; the farmers very anxious for rain.

Pleasant row in the afternoon; went down the river. One can-
not go far, as the mill-dam blocks the way, but it is a pretty little
bit of stream for an evening row. So near its source, the river is
quite narrow, only sixty or eighty feet in breadth. ‘The water is
generally very clear, and of greenish gray ; after the spring thaws
it sometimes has a bluish tint, and late in autumn, after heavy

rains, it takes a more decided shade of dark green. It is rarely

THE RIVER. 195

turbid, and never positively muddy. It has no great depth, ex-
cept in spots; there are some deep places, however, well known
to the boys of the village for feats of diving performed there, certain
lads priding themselves upon walking across the bed of the river
through these deep spots, while others still more daring are said
to have actually played a game of “lap-stone,” sitting in what
they call the “Deep Hole.” In general, the bottom is stony or
muddy, but there are reaches of sand also. The growth of aqua-
tic plants is thick in many places, and near the bridge there is
a fine patch of water-grasses, which have a beautiful effect seen
from above, their long tufts floating gracefully in the slow cur-
rent of the stream, like the locks of a troop of Mermaids. One
of these plants, by-the-by, bears the name of the “Canadian
Water-Nymph ;” but it is one of the homeliest of its tribe; there
are others much more graceful to which the name would be bet-
ter adapted. It will be remembered that in the northern part of
the State there is quite a large stream called Grass River, from
the great quantity of these grassy plants growing in its waters.
The older trees on the bank have long since been cut away ;
but many young elms, maples, ashes, amelanchiers, &c., stand
with their roots washed by the water, while grape-vines and
Virginia creepers are climbing over them. Wild cherries and
plums also line the course of our little river. Sallows and alders
form close thickets lower than the forest trees. All our native
willows on this continent are small; the largest is the black wil-
low, with a dark bark, about five-and-twenty feet high. It grows
some miles farther down the stream. Our alders also are mere
bushes, while the European alder is a full-sized tree, tall as their

elms or beeches.

196 RURAL HOURS.

Wednesday, 25th.—Warm and clear. Thermometer 83, with
fine air.

Long drive. ‘The roads very dusty, but the wind was in our
favor, and it is such a busy time with the farmers, that there was
little movement on the highway. In the course of a drive of
several hours, we only saw three or four wagons.

The farms look very rich with the ripening grains, but rain is
much wanted. ‘The Indian corn, and hops, and potatoes, have
had more sun than they need. The grass also is much drier than
usual in this part of the country ; but the trees are in great beauty,
luxuriantly green, showing as yet no evil effects from this dry
season. The maize is thought to have suffered most; the farmers
say the ears are not filling as they ought to do; but the plants
themselves look well, and the yellow flowers of the pumpkin-
vines lying on the ground help, as usual, to make the corn-fields
among the handsomest on the farms.

Vines like the pumpkin, and melon, and cucumber, bearing
heavy fruits, show little inclination for climbing; it is well they
do not attempt to raise themselves from the earth, since, if they
did so, they could not support their own fruit. The fact that
they do not seek to climb is a pleasing instance of that beautiful
fitness and unity of character so striking in the vegetable world
generally ; the position in which they are content to lie is the
one best calculated to mature their large, heavy gourds; the re-
flected heat of the earth aiding the sun in the task, while the
moisture from the ground does not injure the thick rind, as would
be the case with fruits of a more delicate covering.

Thursday, 26th.—Lowering, cloudy morning, with strong breeze

from the south-east ; one of those skies which promise rain every

THE WHEAT-FIELD. 197

ten minutes. Dark vapors cover the heavens, and sweep over
the hill-tops, but the clouds open, gleams of sunshine come and
go, and no rain falls. Long drive in the mornmg. The mowers
are still at work here and there, for there is much hay cut in our
neighborhood. The wheat harvest has also commenced, and the
crop is pronounced a very good one.

There are certain fancies connected with the wheat-fields pre-
vailing among our farmers, which they are very loth to give up.
There is the old notion, for instance, that a single barberry-bush
will blight acres of wheat, when growing near the grain, an opin-
ion which is now, I believe, quite abandoned by persons of the
best judgment. And yet you see frequent allusions to it, and
occasionally some one brings up an instance which he sagely
considers as unanswerable proof that the poor barberry is guilty
of this crime. In this county we have no barberries; they are a
naturalized shrub in Nenericak at least, the variety now so com-
mon in many parts of the country came originally from the other
hemisphere, and they have not yet reached us. There is another
kind, a native, abundant in Virginia; whether this is also ac-
eused of blighting the wheat, I do not know.

The deceitful chess, or cheat, is another object of especial aver-
sion to the farmers, and very justly. It is not only a troublesome
weed among a valuable crop, but, looking so much like the grain,
its deceptive appearance is an especial aggravation. Many of our
country folk, moreover, maintain that this plant is nothing but a
sort of wicked, degenerate wheat; they hold that a change comes
over the grain by which it loses all its virtue, and takes another

form, becoming, in short, the worthless chess; this opinion some

of them maintain stoutly against all opponents, at the point of

198 RURAL HOURS.

scythe and pitchfork. And yet this odd notion is wholly opposed
to all the positive laws, the noble order of nature; they might
as well expect their raspberry bushes to turn capriciously into
blackberries, their potatoes into beets, their lettuce into radishes.

Most of the weeds which infest our wheat-fields come from the
Old World. This deceitful chess, the corn-cockle, the Canada
thistle, tares, the voracious red-root, the blue-weed, or bugloss,
with others of the same kind. There is, however, one brilliant
but noxious plant found among the corn-fields of Europe which
is not seen in our own, and that is the gaudy red poppy. Our
farmers are no doubt very well pleased to dispense with it; they
are quite satisfied with the weeds already naturalized. But so
common is the poppy in the Old World that it is found every-
where in the corn-fields, along the luxuriant shores of the Medi-
terranean, upon the open, chequered plains of France and Ger-
many, and among the hedged fields of England. The first wild
poppies ever seen by the writer were gathered by a party of
American children about the ruins of Netley Abbey, near South-
ampton, in England.

So common is this brilliant weed among the European grain-fields,
that there is a little insect, an ingenious, industrious little crea-
ture, who invariably employs it in building her cell. This wild
bee, called the upholsterer bee, from its habits, leads a solitary
life, but she takes: a vast deal of pains in behalf of her young.
About the time when the wild poppy begins to blossom, this little
insect flies into a corn-field, looks out for a dry spot of ground,
usually near some pathway ; here she bores a hole about three
inches in depth, the lower portion bemg wider than the mouth ;

and quite a toil it must be to so small a creature to make the ex-

THE FIELD POPPY 199

cavation ; it is very much as if a man were to clear out the cellars
for a large house with his hands only. But this is only the be-
ginning of her task: when the cell is completed, she then flies
away to the nearest poppy, which, as she very well knows, cannot
be very far off in a corn-field ; she cuts outa bit of the scarlet flow-
_ er, carries it to the nest, and spreads it on the floor like a carpet ;
again she returns to the blossom and brings home another piece,
which she lays over the first; when the floor is covered with sev-
eral layers of this soft scarlet carpeting, she proceeds to line the
sides throughout in the same way, until the whole is well surround-
ed with these handsome hangings. This brilliant cradle she makes
for one little bee, laying only a single egg amid the flower-leaves.
Honey and bee-bread are then collected and piled wp to the height
of an inch; and when this store is completed, the scarlet curtains
are drawn close over the whole, and the cell is closed, the careful
mother replacing the earth as neatly as possible, so that after she
has finally smoothed the spot over, it is difficult to discover a cell
you may have seen open the day before. |
This constant association with the wheat, which even the insects
have learned by instinct, has not remained unheeded by man.
Owing to this connection with the precious grain, the poppy of
the Old World received, ages ago, all the honors of a classical flow-
er, and became blended with the fables of ancient mythology ;
not only was it given to the impersonation of Sleep, as one of his
emblems, from the well-known narcotic influences of the plant, but
it was also considered as sacred to one of the most ancient and
most important deities of the system; the very oldest statues of
Ceres represent her with poppies in her garlands, blended with

ears of wheat, either carried in her hand, or worn on her head.

oo

200 RURAL HOURS.

The ancient poets mingled the ears of wheat and the poppy in

their verses:

‘* The meanest cottager
Hts poppy grows among the corn,”

says Cowley, in his translation of Virgil; and in our own day Mr.
Hood, in his pleasing picture of Ruth, introduces both plants,
when describing her beautiful color :

** And on her cheek an autumn flush,
Like poppies grown with corn.”

In short, so well established is this association of the poppy and
wheat, by the long course of observation from time immemorial to
the present season, that the very modistes of Paris, when they wish
to trim a straw bonnet with field plants, are careful to mingle the
poppy with heads of wheat in their artificial flowers. Fickle
Fashion herself is content to leave these plants, year after year, en-
twined together in her wreaths.

But in spite of this general prevalence of the poppy throughout
the grain-fields of the Old World, and its acknowledged claim to
a place beside the wheat, it is quite unknown here as a weed.
With us this ancient association is broken up. Never having seen
it ourselves, we have frequently asked farmers from different parts
of the country if they had ever found it among their wheat, and
thus far the answer has always been the same ; they had never seen
the flower out of gardens. Among our cottage gardens it is very
common. It is, however, naturalized about Westchester, in Penn-
sylvania, and may possibly be found in some other isolated spots ;

but in all this range of wheat-growing country, among the great

THE HUMMING-BIRD MOTH. 201

grain-fields of the Genesee, of Ohio, of Michigan, it is said to be
entirely unknown as a field plant.

It must be the comparative severity of the winters which has
broken up this very ancient connection in our part of the world;
and yet they have at times very severe seasons in France and Ger-
many, without destroying the field poppies.

Friday, 27th.—Cooler ; a refreshing shower last evening ; no
thunder or lightning.

The butterflies are very numerous now; tortoise-shell, black,
and. yellow, with here and there a blue ; large parties of the little
white kind, and the tiny tortoise-shell, also, are fluttermg about
the weeds. The yellow butterflies with pink markings are the
most common sort we have here ; they are regular roadsters, con-
stantly seen on the highway. Last summer about this time, while
driving between Penn-Yan and Seneca Lake, we found these little
creatures more numerous than we had ever yet seen them; there
had been a heavy rain the day before, and there were many half-
dried, muddy pools along the road, which seemed to attract these
butterflies more than the flowers in the meadows; they are al-
ways found hovermg over such spots in summer ; but on that oc-
casion we saw so many that we attempted to count them, and in
half a mile we passed seventy, so that in the course of a drive
of a couple of hours we probably saw more than a thou-
sand of these pretty creatures strung along the highway in little
flocks.

There is a singular insect of this tribe, a kind of moth, seen
about the flower-beds in the summer months. They are so much
like humming-birds in their movements, that many of the country

people consider them as a sort of cousin-german of our common
9*

202 RURAL HOURS.

rubythroat. We have been repeatedly asked if we had seen these
“small humming-birds.” Their size, the bird-like form of their
body and tail, the rapid, quivermg motion of their wings, their
habit of feeding on the wing instead of alighting on the flowers,
are indeed strangely like the humming-bird. Nevertheless, these
are true moths, and there are, I believe, several species of them
flitting about our meadows and gardens. ‘The common green po-
tato, or tobacco-worm, is said to become a moth of this kind ; and
the whole tribe of hawk-moths are now sometimes called hum-
ming-bird moths, from these same insects. They are not peculiar
to this country, but are well known also in Europe, though
not very common there. Altogether, they are singular little crea-
tures ; their tongues, with which they extract the honey from the
flowers, just as the humming-bird does, are in some cases remark-
ably long, even longer than their bodies. One of the tribe is said
to have a tongue six inches in length, and it coils it up like a
watch-spring when not using it.

Saturday, 28th.—Passed the afternoon in the woods.

What a noble gift to man are the forests! What a debt of grati-
tude and admiration we owe for their utility and their beauty !

How pleasantly the shadows of the wood fall upon our heads,
when we turn from the glitter and turmoil of the world of man!
The winds of heaven seem to linger amid these balmy branches,
and the sunshine falls like a blessing upon the green leaves; the
wild breath of the forest, fragrant with bark and berry, fans the
brow with grateful freshness ; and the beautiful wood-light, neither
garish nor gloomy, full of calm and peaceful influences, sheds re-
pose over the spirit. The view is limited, and the objects about

us are uniform in character ; yet within the bosom of the woods

THE FOREST. 203
the mind readily lays aside its daily littleness, and opens to higher
thoughts, in silent consciousness that it stands alone with the
works of God. The humble moss beneath our feet, the sweet
flowers, the varied shrubs, the great trees, and the sky gleaming
above in sacred blue, are each the handiwork of God. They were
all called into being by the will of the Creator, as we now behold
them, full of wisdom and goodness. Every object here has
a deeper merit than our wonder can fathom; each has a
beauty beyond our full perception; the dullest insect crawling
about these roots lives by the power of the Almighty; and the
discolored shreds of last year’s leaves wither away upon the lowly
herbs in a blessing of fertility. But it is the great trees, stretch-
ing their arms above us in a thousand forms of grace and strength,
it is more especially the trees which fill the mind with wonder and
praise.

Of the infinite variety of fruits which spring from the bosom of
the earth, the trees of the wood are the greatest in dignity. , OF
all the works of the creation which know the changes of life and
death, the trees of the forest have the longest existence. Of all
the objects which crown the gray earth, the woods preserve un-
changed, throughout the greatest reach of time, their native char-
acter: the works of man are ever varying their aspect ; his towns
and his fields alike reflect the unstable opinions, the fickle wills
and fancies of each passing generation; but the forests on his
borders remain to-day the same they were ages of years since.
Old as the everlasting hills, durmg thousands of seasons they have
put forth, and laid down their verdure in calm obedience to the
decree which first bade them cover the ruins of the Deluge.

But, although the forests are great and old, yet the ancient

204 RURAL HOURS.

trees within ther bounds must each bend individually beneath the
doom of every earthly existence; they have their allotted period
when the mosses of Time gather upon tlie branches; when,
touched by decay, they break and crumble to dust. Like man,
they are decked in living beauty; like man, they fall a prey to
death ; and while we admire their duration, so far beyond our
own brief years, we also acknowledge that especial interest which
can only belong to the graces of life and to the desolation of
death. We raise our eyes and we see collected in one company
vigorous trunks, the oak, the ash, the pine, firm in the strength of
maturity ; by their side stand a young group, elm, and birch, and
maple, their supple branches playing in the breezes, gay and fresh
as youth itself; and yonder, rising in unheeded gloom, we behold
a skeleton trunk, an old spruce, every branch broken, every leaf
fallen,—dull, still, sad, like the finger of Death.

It is the peculiar nature of the forest, that life and death may
ever be found within its bounds, in immediate presence of each
other ; both with ceaseless, noiseless, advances, aiming at the mas-
tery ; and if the influences of the first be the most general, those
of the last are the most striking. Spring, with all her wealth of
life and joy, finds within the forest many a tree unconscious of
her approach ; a thousand young plants springing up about the
fallen trunk, the shagey roots, seek to soften the gloomy wreck
with a semblance of the verdure it bore of old; but ere they have
thrown their fresh and graceful wreaths over the mouldering wood,
half their own tribe wither and die with the year. We owe to this
perpetual presence of death an impression calm, solemn, almost
religious in character, a chastening influence, beyond what we find

in the open fields. But this subdued spirit is far from gloomy or

THE FOREST. 205
oppressive, since it never fails to be relieved by the cheerful ani-
mation of living beauty. Sweet flowers grow beside the fallen
trees, among the shattered branches, the season through ; and the
freedom of the woods, the unchecked growth, the careless posi-
tion of every tree, are favorable to a thousand wild beauties, and
fantastic forms, opening to the mind a play of fancy whieh is in
itself cheering and enlivening, like the bright sunbeams which
chequer with golden light the shadowy groves. That character
of rich variety also, stamped on all the works of the creation, is
developed in the forest in clear and noble forms; we are told that
in the field we shall not find two blades of grass exactly alike,
that in the garden we shall not gather two flowers precisely sim-
ilar, but in those cases the lines are minute, and we do not seize
the truth at once; in the woods, however, the same fact stands re-
corded in bolder lines; we cannot fail to mark this great variety
of detail among the trees ; we see it in their trunks, their branches,
their foliage ; in the rude knots, the gnarled roots; in the mosses
and lichens which feed upon their bark ; in their forms, their col-
oring, their shadows. And within all this luxuriance of varied
beauty, there dwells a sweet quiet, a noble harmony, a calm re-
pose, which we seek in vain elsewhere, in so full a measure.
These hills, and the valleys at their feet, lay for untold centu-
ries one vast forest; unnumbered seasons, ages of unrecorded
time passed away while they made part of the boundless wilder-
ness of woods. The trees waved over the valleys, they rose upon
the swelling knolls, they filled the hollows, they crowded the nar-
row glens, they shaded the brooks and springs, they washed their
roots in the lakes and rivers, they stood upon the islands, they

swept over the broad hills, they crowned the heads of all the moun-

206 RURAL HOURS.

tains. The whole land lay slumbering in the twilight of the for-
est. Wild dreams made up its half-conscious existence. The
hunery cry of the beast of prey, or the fierce deed of savage
man, whoop and dance, triumph and torture, broke in fitful bursts
upon the deep silence, and then died away, leaving the breath of
life to rise and fall with the passing winds.

Every rocky cliff on the hill-side, every marshy spot on the low-
lands, was veiled in living, rustling folds of green. Here a dark
wave of pine, hemlock, and balsam ran through a ravine, on yon-
der knoll shone the rich glossy verdure of oak, and maple, and
chestnut ; upon the breast of the mountain stood the birch, the
elm, and the aspen, in light and airy tufts. Leaves of every tint
of green played in the summer sunshine, leaves fluttered in the
moonlight, and the showers of heaven fell everywhere upon the
ereen leaves of the unbroken forest.

Sixty years have worked a wonderful change; the forest has
fallen upon the lowlands, and there is not a valley about us which
has not been opened. Another half century may find the coun-
try bleak and bare; but as yet the woods have not all been felled,
and within the circle which bounds our view, there is no moun-
tain which has been wholly shorn, none presents a bald front to
the sky; upon the lake shore, there are several hills still wrap-
ped in wood from the summit to the base. He who takes
pleasure in the forest, by picking his way, and following a winding
course, may yet travel many along mile over a shady path, such
as the red man loved.

The forest lands of \ merica preserve to the present hour some-
thing that is characteristic of their wild condition, undisturbed for

ages. ‘They abound in ruins of their own. Old trees, dead and

THE FOREST. 207

dying, are left standing for years, until at length they are shiy-
ered and broken by the winds, or they crumble slowly away to
a shapeless stump. There was no forester at hand to cut them
down when the first signs of decay appeared ; they had no uses
then, now they have no value. Broken limbs and dead bodies of
great trees lie scattered through the forests ; there are spots where
the winds seem to have battled with the woods—at every step
one treads on fallen trunks, stretched in giant length upon the
earth, this still clad in its armor of bark, that bare and moulder-
ing, stained by green mildew, one a crumbling mass of fragments,
while others, again, lie shrouded in beautiful mosses, long green
hillocks marking the grave of trees slowly turning to dust. Young
trees are frequently found growing upon these forest ruins; if a
giant pine or oak has been levelled by some storm, the mass of
matted roots and earth will stand upright for years in the same
position into which it was raised by the falling trunk, and occa-
sionally a good-sized hemlock, or pine, or beech, is seen growing
from the summit of the mass, which in itself is perhaps ten or
twelve feet high. We have found a stout tree, of perhaps twen-
ty years’ growth, which has sprung from a chance seed, sown by
the winds on the prostrate trunk of a fallen pine or chestnut,
growing until its roots have stretched down the side of the moul-
dering log, and reached the earth on both sides, thus holding the
crumbling skeleton firmly in its young embrace. The decay of
these dead trees is strangely slow; prostrate pines have been
known to last fifty years, undecayed, still preserving their sap ;
and upright gray shafts often remain standing for years, until
one comes to know them as familiarly as the living trees. In-

stances are on record where they have thus remained erect in

208 RURAL HOURS.

death for a space of forty years.* Amid this wild confusion, we
note here and there some mark left by civilized man; the track
of wheels, a rude road sprinkled over by withered leaves, or the
mark of the axe, sharp and clean, upon a stump close at hand,
reminding us how freely and how richly the forest contributes to
the wants of our race.

Perhaps two-fifths of the woods in our neighborhood are ever-
greens, chiefly pine and hemlock; the proportion varies, however,
in different spots; occasionally you see a whole mountain-side
dark with hemlock and pine, while other hills, again, are almost
entirely covered with deciduous trees ; more frequently, they are
pleasingly mingled in the same wood. Both hemlock and pine
grow in all positions, upon the hills, in the valleys, in dry soils,
and upon the banks of the streams. The balsam is less common,
generally found in marshy spots, in company with its kinsman,
of the tamarach, which in summer, at least, has all the appearance
of anevergreen. The balsam is a beautiful tree ; though not aspir-
ino to the dignity of the pine and hemlock, it shoots up in the
most perfect and gradual spire-like form, to a height of thirty or
forty feet, remarkable for its elegance; the foliage is very rich
in color and quantity. It seems to delight in throwing its
image into the pools and tarns about our hills, often standing
on their banks, tinging the waters with its own dark green.
There is no cedar very near us; the white cedar, or cypress, is

found about eight or nine miles to the northward, and still far-

* The trees destroyed on the Mississippi by the earthquake of 1811 are stand-
ing to-day, when nearly forty years have elapsed (Dec. 1849). And many simi-
lar instances might, no doubt, be found, if people had watched these dead inhab-

jitants of our forests.

THE FOREST. 209

ther in.that direction it is very abundant, but along the course

of the river, southward from the lake, to a distance of more than

a hundred miles, we do not remember to have seen it. We have

also but one pine, though that one is the chief of its family ; the
noble white pine, the pride of the Alleghanies ; neither the yellow,
the pitch, nor the red pine is known here, so far as one can dis-
cover. The arbor vitz is also unknown. It has been thought by
some of our neighbors that the evergreens diminish in numbers
as the old woods are cut away, the deciduous trees gaining upon
them; but looking about at the young thrifty groves of pine seen
in every direction, there does not seem much reason to fear that
they will disappear. They shoot up even in the cleared fields,
here and there, and we have observed in several instances, that
in spots where old pme woods had been cut down, close thickets
of young trees of the same kind have succeeded them.

The oak of several varieties, white, black, the scarlet, and. the
red; the beech, the chestnut; black and white ashes; the lime
or bass-wood; the white and the slippery elms; the common
aspen, the large-leaved aspen; the downy-leaved poplar, and the
balm of Gilead poplar; the white, the yellow, and the black
birches, are all very common. The sumach and the alder abound
everywhere. But the glossy leaves of the maple are more nu-
merous than any others, if we include the whole family, and with
the exception of the western or ash-leaved maple, they all grow
here, from the fine sugar maple to the dwarf mountain maple :
including them all, then, perhaps they number two for one of any
other deciduous tree found here. They sow themselves very
freely ; in the spring one finds the little seedling maples coming

up everywhere. With the exception of the chestnut, the nut trees

210 RURAL HOURS.

are not so very common; yet the hickory is not rare, and both
the black walnut and the butternut are met with. The syca-
more, very abundant to the north of us, on the Mohawk, is rare
here; it is found on the banks of a little stream two or three
miles to the southward, and that is the only spot in the neigh-
borhood where it has been observed. ‘The pepperidge or sour-
gum is found here and there only. The tulip-tree, abundant in
most parts of the country, has not been seen within fifteen miles
of our lake. The sweet-gum, or liquid-amber, is unknown here.
The sassafras, also, is a stranger with us. That beautiful shrub,
the laurel, so very common on the Hudson, is missed here; it
grows in the county, however, but more than twenty miles to the
southward of our village. The handsome flowering dog-wood,
so ornamental to the forests in other parts of the State, is also
wanting in this neighborhood.

The finest trees about the banks of our lake are remarkable
rather for their height than their girth. Belonging to the old
forest race, they have .been closely pressed on all sides by their
fellows, and the trunks rise in a branchless shaft to a commanding
height; their foliage crowns the summit in full masses, and if
never devoid of the native graces of each species, still it has not
all the beauty developed by the free growth of the open fields.
The older ashes, elms, and oaks are striking trees, much more
stern and simple than their brethren of the lawns and meadows,
all bearing the peculiar character of forest growth. The younger
tribe of the woods, from the same cause which gives a stern sim-
plicity to their elders, become, on the other hand, even more light
and airy than their fellows in the open ground; shaded by the

patriarchs of the forest, they shoot up toward the light in slen-

THE FOREST 911

der gracile stems, throwing out their branches in light and airy
spray. So slight and supple are the stems of this younger race,
that trees of thirty and forty, ay, even fifty feet in height,
often bend low beneath the weight of the winter’s snow upon
their naked branches; some of them never regain their upright
position, others gradually resume it as their trunks gain strength.
Upon a wild wood-road near the lake shore there is a natural
green archway, formed in this manner by two tall young trees
accidentally bending toward each other from opposite sides of
. the road, until their branches meet over the track; the effect is
very pretty, one of those caprices of the forest world, which in
older times might have passed for the work of some elfin wood-
man.

It is to be feared that few among the younger generation now
springing up will ever attain to the dignity of the old forest trees.
Very large portions of these woods are already of a second growth,
and trees of the greatest size are becoming every year more rare.
It quite often happens that you come upon old stwmps of much
larger dimensions than any living trees about them; some of
these are four, and a few five feet or more in diameter. Occa-
sionally, we still find a pine erect of this size; one was felled the
other day, which measured five feet in diameter. There is an elm
about a mile from the village seventeen feet in girth, and not
long since we heard of a bass-wood or linden twenty-eight feet
in circumference. But among the trees now standing, even those
which are sixty or eighty feet in height, many are not more than
four, or five, or six feet in girth. The pines, especially, reach a
surprising elevation for their bulk.

As regards the ages of the larger trees, one frequently finds

212 RURAL HOURS.

stumps about two hundred years old; those of three hundred
are not rare, and occasionally we have seen one which we be-
lieved to claim upward of four hundred rings. But as a rule.
the largest trees are singled out very early in the history of a
settlement, and many of these older stumps of the largest size
have now become so worn and ragged, that it is seldom one can
count the circles accurately. They are often much injured by
fire immediately after the tree has been felled, and in many other
instances decay has been at work at the heart, and one cannot,
perhaps, count more than half the rmgs ; measuring will help, in
such cases, to give some idea; by taking fifty rmgs of the sound
part, and allowing the same distance of the decayed portion for
another fifty. But this is by no means a sure way, since the rings
vary very much in the same tree, some being so broad that they
must have sensibly increased the circumference of the trunk in
one year, to the extent, perhaps, of an inch, while in other parts
of the same shaft you will find a dozen circles crowded ito that
space. In short, it is seldom one has the satisfaction of meeting
with a stump in which one may count every ring with perfect
accuracy. It is said that some of the pines on the Pacific coast,
those of Oregon and California, have numbered nine hundred
rings ; these were the noble Lambert pines of that region. Prob-
ably very few of our own white pines can show more than half
that number of circles.

It is often said, as an excuse for leaving none standing, that
these old trees of forest growth will not live after their compan-
ions have been felled; they miss the protection which one gives
to another, and, exposed to the winds, soon fall to the ground.

As a general rule, this may be true; but if one is inclined to be-

THE FOREST. 213
lieve that if the experiment of leaving a few were more frequently
tried, it would often prove successful. There is an elm of great
size now standing entirely alone in a pretty field of the valley, its
girth, its age, and whole appearance declaring it a chieftain of the
ancient race—the “Sagamore elm,” as it is called—and in spite
of complete exposure to the winds from all quarters of the heay-
ens, it maintains its place firmly. ‘The trunk measures seventeen
feet in circumference, and it is thought to be a hundred feet in
height; but this is only from the eye, never having been accu-
rately ascertained. The shaft rises perhaps fifty feet without a
branch, before it divides, according to the usual growth of old
forest trees. Unfortunately, gray branches are beginning to show
among its summer foliage, and it is to be feared that it will not
outlast many winters more; but if it die to-morrow, we shall
have owed a debt of many thanks to the owner of the field for
having left the tree standing so long.

In these times, the hewers of wood are an unsparing race.
The first colonists looked upon a tree as an enemy, and to judge
from appearances, one would think that something of the same
spirit prevails among their descendants at the present hour. It
is not surprising, perhaps, that a man whose chief object in life is
to make money, should turn his timber into bank-notes with all
possible speed; but it is remarkable that any one at all aware of
the value of wood, should act so wastefully as most men do in
this part of the world. Mature trees, young saplings, and last
year’s seedlings, are all destroyed at one blow by the axe or by
fire; the spot where they have stood is left, perhaps, for a life-

time without any attempt at cultivation, or any endeavor to foster

new wood. One would think that by this time, when the forest

214 RURAL HOURS.

has fallen in all the valleys—when the hills are becoming more
bare every day—when timber and fuel are rismg in prices,
and new uses are found for even indifferent woods—some fore-
thought and care in this respect would be natural in people lay-
ing claim to common sense. The rapid consumption of the large
pine timber among us should be enough to teach a lesson of
prudence and economy on this subject. It has been calculated
that 60,000 acres of pine woods are cut every year in our own
State alone; and at this rate, it is said that in twenty years, or
about 1870, these trees will have disappeared from our part of
the country !* But unaccountable as it may appear, few Amer-
ican farmers are aware of the full value and importance of wood.
They seem to forget the relative value of the forests. It has
been reported in the State of New York, that the produce of
tilled lands carried to tide-water by the Erie Canal, in one year,
amounted to $8,170,000 dollars worth of property; that of ani-
mals, or farm-stock, for the same year, is given at $3,230,000 ;
that of the forests, lumber, staves, &., &., at $4,770,000.¢ Thus
the forest yielded more than the stock, and more than half as
much as the farm lands; and when the comparative expense of
the two is considered, their value will be brought still nearer to-
gether. Peltries were not included in this account. Our peo-
ple seldom remember that the forests, while they provide food
and shelter for the wildest savage tribes, make up a large amount
of the wealth of the most civilized nations, The first rude devices
of the barbarian are shaped in wood, and the cedar of Lebanon
ranks with the gold of Ophir within the walls of palaces. How

* Dr. Torrey’s State Botany.
ft See State Reports for 1835.

TREES. : 215

much do not we ourselves owe to the forests as regards our daily
wants! Our fields are divided by wooden fences ; wooden bridges
cross our rivers ; our village streets and highways are being paved
with wood; the engines that carry us on our way by land and
by water are fed with wood; the rural dwellings without and
within, their walls, their floors, stairways, and roofs are almost
wholly of wood ; and in this neighborhood the fires that burn on
our household hearths are entirely the gift of the living forest.
But independently of their market price in dollars and cents,
the trees have other values: they are connected in many ways with
the etvilization of a country ; they have their importance in an
intellectual and in a moral sense. After the first rude stage of
progress is past In a new country—when shelter and food have
been provided-—people begin to collect the conveniences and
pleasures of a permanent home about their dwellings, and then
the farmer generally sets out a few trees before his door, This
is very desirable, but it is only the first step in the track; some-
thing more is needed; the preservation of fine trees, already
standing, marks a farther progress, and this point we have not
yet reached. It frequently happens that the same man who yes-
terday planted some half dozen branchless saplings before his
door, will to-day cut down a noble elm, or oak, only a few rods
from his house, an object which was in itself a hundred-fold more
beautiful than any other in his possession. In very truth, a fine
tree near a house is a much greater embellishment than the thick-
est coat of paint that could be put on its walls, or a whole row of
wooden columns to adorn its front; nay, a large shady tree in a
door-yard is much more desirable than the most expensive ma-

hogany and velvet sofa in the parlor. Unhappily, our people

216 RURAL HOURS.

generally do not yet see things in this light. But time is a very
essential element, absolutely indispensable, indeed, jn true civiliza-
tion; and in the course of years we shall, it is to be hoped, learn
farther lessons of this kind. Closer observation will reveal to us
the beauty and excellence of simplicity, a quality as yet too little
valued or understood in this country. And when we have made
this farther progress, then we shall take better care of our trees.
We shall not be satisfied with setting out a dozen naked saplings
before our door, because our neighbor on the left did so last year,
nor cut down a whole wood, within a stone’s throw of our dwell-
ing, to pay for a Brussels carpet from the same piece as our
neighbor’s on the right; no, we shall not care a stiver for mere
show and parade, in any shape whatever, but we shall look to
the general proprieties and fitness of things, whether our neigh-
bors to the right or the left do so or not.

How easy it would be to improve most of the farms in the
country by a little attention to the woods and trees, improving
their appearance, and adding to their market value at the same
time! ‘Thinning woods and not blasting them ; clearing only such
ground as is marked for immediate tillage ; preserving the wood
on the hill-tops and rough side-hills; encouraging a coppice on
this or that knoll; permitting bushes and young trees to grow at
will along the brooks and water-courses; sowing, if need be, a
grove on the bank of the pool, such as are found on many of our
farms; sparing an elm or two about the spring, with a willow
also to overhang the well; planting one or two chestnuts, or oaks,
or beeches, near the gates. or bars; leaving a few others scat-
tered about every field to shade the cattle im summer, as is fre-

quently done, and setting out others in groups, or singly, to shade

—S

TREES. O17

the house—how little would be the labor or expense required to
accomplish all this, and how desirable would be the result! As-
suredly, the pleasing character thus given to a farm and a neigh-
borhood is far from being beneath the consideration of a sensible
man.

But there is also another view of the subject. A careless in-
difference to any good gift of our gracious Maker, shows a want
of thankfulness, as any abuse or waste, betrays a reckless spirit of
evil. It is, indeed, strange that one claiming to be a rational
creature should not be thoroughly ashamed of the spirit of de-
structiveness, since the principle itself is clearly an evil one. Let
us remember that it is the Supreme Being who is the Creator,
and in how many ways do we see his gracious providence, his
Almighty economy, deigning to work progressive renovation in
the humblest objects when their old forms have become exhaust-

ed by Time! There is also something in the care of trees which

‘rises above the common labors of husbandry, and speaks of a

generous mind. We expect to wear the fleece from our flocks,
to drink the milk of our herds, to feed upon the fruits of our
fields; but in planting a young wood, in preserving a fine grove,
a noble tree, we look beyond ourselves to the band of household
friends, to our neighbors—ay, to the passing wayfarer and stran-
ger who will share with us the pleasure they give, and it becomes
a grateful reflection that long after we are gone, those trees will
continue a good to our fellow-creatures for more years, perhaps,
than we can tell.

Quite recently, two instances of an opposite character connected
with this subject have accidentally fallen under our notice. At

a particular point in the wilds of Oregon, near the bank of the
10

|

918 RURAL HOURS.

Columbia River, there stood a single tree, of great size, one of the
majestic pines of that region, and long known as a landmark to
the hunters and emigrants passing over those solitary wastes.
One of the expeditions sent out to explore that country by the
government, arriving near the point, were on the watch for that
pine to guide their course; they looked for it some time, but in
vain; at length, reaching the spot where they supposed it ought
to have stood—a way-mark in the wilderness—they found the
tree: lying on the earth. It had been felled, and left there to rot,
by some man claiming, no doubt, to be a civilized beng. The
man who could do such an act would have been worthy to make
one of the horde of Attila, barbarians who delighted to level to
the ground every object over which their own horses could not
leap.

Opposed to this is an instance less striking, but more pleasing,
and happily much nearer to our own neighborhood. Upon the
banks of the Susquehannah, not far from the little village of
Bainbridge, the traveller, 1s he follows the road, observes a
very fine tree before him, and as he approaches he will find it to
be a luxuriant elm, standing actually n the midst of the high-
way ; its branches completely cover the broad track, sweeping
over the fences on either side. The tree stands in the very post-
tion where a thorough-going utilitarian would doubtless quarrel
with it, for the road is turned a little out of its true course to
sweep round the trunk; but in the opinion of most people, it is
not only a very beautiful object in itself, but highly creditable to
the neighborhood ; for, not only has it been left standing in its

singular position, but as far as we could see, there was not a sin-

gle mark of abuse upon its trunk or branches.

SAS A EL, PL LRG.

‘ki waauzrigd I 4D

MUVI MOCVAIN

THE MEADOW-LARK. 219

Monday, 30th.—Very warm. ‘Thermometer 80 in the house ;
89 in the shade without.

Walking in the lane toward evening, saw a couple of meadow-
larks in great agitation; perhaps some disaster had befallen their
young ; it seems rather late for them to have little ones, but they
raise two broods in the summer. ‘They were flymg from one
bush to another, and back again over the same ground, crying as
they went quite piteously. These birds build on the ground;
their nest is made of different. grassy plants, quite cleverly con-
trived, and almost always placed ina meadow. ‘They are decid-
edly larger and handsomer than the European sky-lark, but their
simple note is not at all remarkable; the female sings a little as
she rises and falls, like the wife of the red-wing black-bird. Their
flight is very different from that of their European kinsman, being
heavy and laborious; they like, however, to perch on the very
highest branches of trees, which is singular in birds living so
much on the ground, and moving apparently with some effort.
Climate seems to affect them but little, for they reach from the
tropics to 53° north latitude, and they are resident birds in the
lower counties of our own State, though never remaining, I be-
lieve, among these hills.

It is to be regretted that neither of the two great singing-birds
of the Old World is found in America; that both the sky-lark and
the nightingale should be strangers on this side the Atlantic. In
some respects the nightingale differs from the common notions
regarding it in this country. We have read so much of “ plain-
tive Philomel,” that most of us fancy a solitary bird, in the deep
recesses of the grove, chanting by moonlight an air “ most mu-

sical, most melancholy.” But this is far from being always the

920 RURAL HOURS.

case; the birds smg by daylight at least as often as they do at
night, and of a pleasant morning or evening, one may hear a
whole choir of them singing cheerfully together. It is said that
they never move about in flocks; this may be so, but they cer-
tainly live in close neighborhood—a number in the same wood.
In the months of May and June, at early dawn, just about the
time when the market people and chimney-sweeps are moving
about the streets of Paris, the nightingales are heard smging gayly
enough, a dozen at a time, perhaps, in the very heart of that great
city. They live in the maronniers, and lindens, and elms, among
the noble gardens of the town, whether public or private, and
seem to mind the neighborhood of man as little as the greenlets
which flit about the plane-trees of Philadelphia. It is true, that
at the same season, you may, if you choose, take a moonlight

walk in the country,

*¢ And the mute silence hist along,
Lest Philomel will deign a song
In her sweetest, saddest plight.”

And probably this solitary song, owing partly to the moonlight,
and partly to the stillness of night, will produce a much deeper
effect than the choir you heard m the morning, or at sunset.

It is said that an attempt was made, some: years since, to intro-
duce the nightingale into this country, a gentleman in Virginia
having imported a number and given them their liberty in the
woods. But they seem to have all died; the change of climate
and. food was probably too great. They are delicate birds; they
are said to be very rare in the northern counties of England, and

to avoid also the western parts of the island. Still, the nightin-

THE SKY-LARK. 99]

gale is a bird of passage, and now that the sea-voyage is so much
shorter, possibly, if the experiment were repeated, it might suc-
ceed. Birds are great travellers, and they have undoubtedly
spread themselves over the world as we now find them. Within
our own short history, we know of well-accredited instances of
changes in their course. In this very State we now have the
singular Cliff-swallow, which a few years since was entirely un-
known, and the first seen here were a solitary pair. The Cat-
birds also are said to have been unknown on the Genesee until
several years after the country had been opened. Blue-birds
and robins are far more numerous than they used to be, while on
the other hand several birds are known to have deserted our
neighborhood for regions more to their taste, such as the quail,
the kill-deers, the crested woodpeckers, &e., &e.

The sky-lark is more hardy than the nightingale, and possibly
might bear our climate better, though not a migratory bird. Of the
two, we should perhaps prefer the lark. In the first place, he smgs
‘more or less the whole year round, and never deserts his native
fields, while the nightingale is only in voice for a few weeks in
May and June. And then the habits of the lark are peculiar to
himself. There is no act of the eagle so noble in character as the
uprising of the lark to greet the sun; it is the very sublime of
action. We know nothing within the whole range of nature more
eloquent. If we may believe Lafontaine, this bird likes to build

his lowly nest in a grain-field—

‘ Les alouettes font leur nid

Dans les blés, quand ils sont en herbe.”

The lark of the fable smgs wittily, rather than lyrically; but

209 | RURAL HOURS.

all that the borkomme does with the creatures which people his —

world of fancy, is so exquisite in its way, that we are entirely
satisfied with his bird in the homely, motherly character. It is
her husband who is the poet; it is he who sings those noble sun-
rise odes; she herself is the clever, notable—mere de famille—
who knows the world, though Lafontaine did not. When the
farmer talks of collecting first his neighbors, and then his rela-
tions, to cut the grain, she gives herself no concern whatever—
why should she? But when the good-man comes with his son,
and they decide to begin the work themselves, the point is set-
tled, the lark family must take flight—

**C’est a ce coup, qu’il faut décamper, mes enfants,
Kt les petits en méme temps
Voletants, se culebutants
Délogérent tous, sans trompette.”

In this part of the world, Lafontaine would have been com-
pelled to choose some other more humble bird, to teach us so clev-
erly the useful lesson of self-dependence ; but if he had chanced.
to make acquaintance with the meadow-lark, the grass-bird, the
bobolink, or even the modest little song-sparrow, he would have
taught either of them, in a trice, to sing with more than all “/’es-
prit des Mortemars.”

There is in this country a lark common to both continents—the
horned-lark or shore-lark—a very pretty arctic bird, which in
winter goes as far south as Georgia, but we have never heard of
it in these highlands. On the coast of Long Island it is quite
common. It is said also to breed on the Western prairies.

Tuesday, 3\st.—Refreshing Shomer in the morning; gentle

rain, no thunder or lightning ; it is remarkable how little elec-

CARDINAL FLOWER. (Lobelia cardinalis|
G. P Putnam MN Y.

Endccott’s Litp.M. Y.

LOBELIA. 293

tricity we have had this summer. We have often, in common
seasons, heavy showers, with very sharp lightning, and thunder
which echoes grandly among our hills. We have known the
lightning to strike seven times in the course of an hour, in the vil-
lage and the immediate neighborhood, twice in the lake, and five
times on the land; but very happily, no serious accident occurred
on that occasion, though one or two persons were stunned. This
summer we have hardly seen a flash.

First melons to-day.

Wednesday, August 1st.—Pleasant ; walked over Mill Bridge
in the afternoon. Gathered a fine bunch of the crimson lobelia
by the river-side. What an exquisite shade of red lies on the
petals of this brilliant plant! It reminds one that the Russian
word for beauty and for red is said to be the same—krasno?, as
M. de Ségur gives it ; most of us would probably consider rose-
color or blue as more beautiful, but certainly the inimitable, vivid,
and yet delicate tint of the lobelia, may claim to be identical with
krasnoi, or beauty. ‘The blue lobelia, also very handsome in its
way, is not found here, though very common on the Mohawk.

Walking through a wood, found hawk-wort and asters in bloom,
also a handsome rattlesnake plantain, or Goodyera, with its veined
leaves and fragrant spike of white flowers ; this is one of the
plants formerly thought to cure the bite of the rattlesnake, though
little credit 1s given to the notion now-a-days.

Thursday, 2d.—Long drive down the valley.

There is not a single town of any size within a distance of
forty miles, yet already the rural population of this county is quite
large. The whole country, within a wide circuit north, south,

east and west, partakes of the same general character; mountain

994 RURAL HOURS.

ridges, half tilled, half wood, screening cultivated valleys, sprin-
kled with farms and hamlets, among which some pretty stream
generally winds its way. The waters in our immediate neighbor-
hood all flow to the southward, though only a few miles to the
north of our village, the brooks are found running in an opposite
course, this valley lymg just within the borders of the dividing
ridge. ‘The river itself, though farther south it becomes one of
the great streams of the country, cannot boast of much breadth
so near its source, and running quietly among the meadows, half
screened by the groves and thickets, scarcely shows in the gen-
eral view. :

The whole surface of the country is arable; very little marsh
or bog is found in the lower lands, and there are no barren tracts
upon the hills. Rocks rarely break through the surface, except
here and there where a low cliff runs along the hill-sides, and
these are usually shaded by the forest. This general fertility,
this blending of the fields of man and his tillage with the woods,
the great husbandry of Providence, gives a fine character to the
country, which it could not claim when the lonely savage roamed
through wooded valleys, and which it must lose if ever cupidity,
and the haste to grow rich, shall destroy the forest entirely, and
leave these hills to posterity, bald and bare, as those of many
older lands. No perfection of tillage, no luxuriance of produce
can make up to a country for the loss of its forests ; you may turn
the soil into a very garden crowded with the richest crops, if shorn
of wood, like Sampson shorn of his locks, it may wear a florid as-
pect, but the noblest fruit of the earth, that which is the greatest
proof of her strength, will be wanting,

Cross-roads occur frequently, and many more are seen in the

PLANK ROADS. 995

distance, winding over the hills toward other valleys and. other
villages. Indeed, the number of roads by which the country is
cut up in every direction, crossing each other at short intervals,
hither and thither, might alone lead a foreigner to suppose it much
older in civilization; and when the great extent of the country and
the date of its settlement are remembered, these roads bear very
striking testimony to the spirit and activity of the people. It is
true that many of them are very imperfectly worked, yet in sum-
mer and winter they are all in respectable condition, and many of
them as good as need be; these new plank roads, which are just
beginning, promise, indeed, to be admirable, and the workman-
ship, filling up hollows and grading hills, is often quite imposing.
It must also be remembered that the climate is much against us
in this respect, owing to the deep frosts of winter and sudden
thaws of spring, which are enough to injure greatly the best-made
roads in the world.

The soil, without being so rich as that farther west, is very
good, and the school of agriculture respectable, though scarcely
very scientific. A portion of the farmers are graziers and dairy-
men, and large herds are seen feeding in some pastures. Wool
is also a staple of the county, and one cannot go very far without
coming upon a flock of sheep, nibbling quietly by themselves, un-
watched by dog or shepherd. During the summer months, the
cattle of these valleys have generally good cause to be satisfied
with their lot; the grass seldom fails, and those excessive heats,
accompanied by long parching droughts—almost a matter of course

in the lower counties—are seldom felt here; the continued warm

weather of this last summer has been something uncommon. But _

though dryer than usual, our meadows are still greener than those
10*

226 RURAL HOURS.

in other parts of the State; we have just heard that two hundred
head of cattle, and two thousand head of sheep, have been driven
into our county from St. Lawrence, to be pastured here during
the drought. Generally, our grass and foliage are refreshed by
passing showers, during the warmest weather, and the beauty of
the verdure is a source of great pleasure to those who come from
the brown fields about New York and Philadelphia.

The crops are those which belong naturally to a temperate,
hilly country. Wheat, oats, buckwheat, maize, potatoes, and. bar-
ley are the most common, with some turnips and carrots for fod-
der. Rye is rather rare. Hop-grounds are frequent, for al-
though this is not much of a beer-drinking community, yet a
large amount of hops is carried hence to the sea-ports for Euro-
pean markets. These fields are said to be very profitable for the
owners, but they are by no means so pleasing in a landscape as
grain or pasture lands. Those two vines, the hop and the grape,
so luxuriant and beautiful in their natural state, alike lose much
of their peculiar grace, when cultivated in the common way;
at a distance, a hop-ground and a vineyard very much resemble
each other, though the hop is tramed much higher than the grape;
the poles and stakes in each case go far toward destroying the
beauty of the plants. Both these vines, by-the-by, the grape
and the hop, are natives of this part of the country.

The new disease among the potatoes, which has already done
so much mischief in past years, has only shown itself this season
in some few fields. Generally, the crop looks quite well in our
neighborhood. This disease seems to be one of the most singular
on record in the vegetable world, unaccountable in its origin, and

so very general in both hemispheres; is it not the only instance

PAPPOOSE POOL. 997

of such a general and prolonged blight? Probably in time the
evil will mercifully be removed, for it scarcely belongs to the na-
ture of vegetable productions to perish entirely and become ex-
tinct like tribes of animals.

About a couple of miles from the village there is a very pretty
pool in a field near the road, covering, perhaps, an acre or more
of ground; marvellous tales were formerly told of its depth, and
for a long time people tried to believe it unfathomable; but un-
fortunately, actual measurement has destroyed the illusion, and it
is found to be only five or six feet in depth! All agree, however,
that it has become much more shallow since the country has been

opened and the woods cut away :

‘* Before these fields were shorn and tilled,
Full to the brim our rivers flowed ;
The melody of waters filled
The fresh and boundless wood.
And torrents dashed, and rivulets played,

And fountains spouted in the shade.”

But now, as the old Indian sings, these things are changed:

‘The springs are silent in the sun,
The rivers by the blackened shore

With lessening current run.”

This little lake, Pappoose Pool, as it is called, looks very pret-
tily as one comes and goes along the highway, with its border of
evergreens of various kinds sweeping half round it, and making a
fine background to the water, which they color with their dark
branches.

Presently, after passing this little pool, one comes to a factory

on the bank of a pretty stream of some size, which received its

998 RURAL HOURS.

name from the number of oaks standing on its banks in former
times ; most of these have been felled years ago, and the river.
now runs among open fields, just beyond the factory, however, a
few hoary old trunks are seen rising far above the younger trees
and shrubs; but these are sycamores, and with their white bark
and scanty branches, they look like lingering ghosts of the fallen
forest. ‘The banks of this stream are the only ground in the neigh-
borhood, I believe, where sycamores are found, and there are but
a few, scattered here and there, along its track.

The factory, a stone building of some size, with its usual neigh-
bors, a mill and a store, make up a little hamlet, with a cluster of
red wooden cottages, and a yellow house for the agent. A couple
of thriving maples, good-sized trees, have been left standing in

the open space crossed by the road, much to the credit of those

who have spared them—“ may their shadows never be less!” It

is a pity that a few more were not scattered about with a bench
or two in the shade; the spot would then make a neat hamlet
green.

Some people think that public seats would not answer in our
part of the world; it is said that if made of stone they would be
cracked and broken; if made of wood chipped and defaced by
the knives of the thoughtless men and boys of a country neigh-
borhood. But surely it is time we began to learn a lesson of civ-
ilization in this respect ; to put things to their proper uses is one
of the first precepts of good sense and good manners. Benches
were not made to be chipped, nor knives to mutilate and deface
with. One would like an experiment of this kind to be fairly
tried ; if it failed, then it would be time enough to complain ; and

wherever it succeeds, it must be very creditable to the rural com-

PUBLIC WALKS. 2299

munity who carries it out. Travellers in Switzerland remember
with pleasure the seats placed at intervals along the road-side in
that country for the weary and wayfaring ; near Berne these seats are
very common indeed, and although they are often found in quiet,
secluded spots, the fear of their being injured by the people seems
never to have been suggested. Cannot we in this country, where
schools, and books, and churches are so common, follow, in this
respect, the pleasant, simple custom offered by the example of
our fellow-republicans of Berne? ‘These public benches form, in-
deed, only a part of a general system, the first step toward the
open green of the village, the public walks of the larger towns,
and the noble gardens of great cities, so happily provided in most
countries of Europe, for the health and innocent recreation of the
people. Surely it would be very desirable to introduce all these
into our own country, and here, where land is cheaper, they ought
to be more easily carried out than m the Old World. A bench
or two of this description beneath a cluster of trees on a little
green in any hamlet, would have a good effect in brmging many
a mother out into the open air, with her baby, at odd moments,
when it would be good for both to be there ; such a play-ground
would be better than the dusty street for the children; and if
fathers and husbands were content to talk politics under the trees
rather than in the smoky, drinking bar-room, it would certainly do
them no harm.

Besides this cotton factory at the Twin-Maples, there is another
on the opposite side of the valley, upon the main stream ; several
others are found in different parts of the county, but they are all
on a moderate scale.

Another large stone building is seen across the valley, on the

~

DS

230 RURAL HOURS.

brow of an abrupt bank, looking in the distance like an old French
auberge. It is the county poor-house, and rising in the midst of
a prosperous country, tells us that even under the most favora-
ble circumstances, within a young and vigorous society, there must
be poor among us, some the victims of their own follies or vices,
some the victims of those of others.

The valley becomes broader and more level about four or five
miles from the village; a hamlet has grown up here about an
Academy, founded early in the history of the county, by a Lu-
theran clergyman, who has left his name to the spot. Farm-
houses and cottages are springing up here along the highway in
close neighborhood, for a mile or more. Many of these, painted
white, with green blinds, and pleasant door-yards, and a garden
adjoming, look very neat and cheerful. Green-house plants, ge-
raniums, callas, cactuses, W&e., d&c., are seen on these cottage
porches at this season ; they are much prized during the long win-
ter, and something of the kind is found in many houses. A very
broad field, remarkably level for this part of the world, lies on
one side of the highway; sugar-maples line the road here, and
they bear marks of having been tapped for the sap, thus serving
the double purpose of a pleasant, shady avenue, and a sugar-bush
where the trees are close at hand. A burying-ground lies at one
corner of the broad field, and a little meeting-house at the far-
ther point. But the great edifice of the hamlet is of course
the Academy, a brick building, colored gray, flanked by wings,
with a green before its doors, and a double row of maples,
planted in a semicircle, forming its academic shades. The in-
stitution was endowed by the Lutheran clergyman, a German by

birth, who was the original owner of a small patent covering this

CAN EOD) AU MetS 231

spot; the worthy man is said to have been an eccentric character,
but he was one of the first preachers of the Holy Gosple, per-
haps the very first, in this valley, and his preaching from a cart is
one of the local traditions. A little parsonage close at hand is
occupied by the principal of the Academy ; with its garden, flow-
ers, arbor, and bee-hives, it looks pleasantly from the road-side.
Some years since it was a Swedish clergyman who officiated here.

From the summit of a hill on the left, crossed by a country
road, there is a fine view over the valley, and the lake in the dis-
tance; there are also several little sheets of water, limpid, mount-
ain tarns, among those hills; the stream flowing from one of these
forms a modest little cascade. It is rather remarkable that we
have so few cascades in this county, abounding as it does with
brooks and streams, and lesser lakes lying at different levels ; but
the waters generally work their way gradually down the hills
without taking any bold leaps. ;

On the opposite side of the valley, a mile or two farther down
the stream, there is a singular fissure in the rocks, a sort of ravine,
called “The Jambs,” where a geologist might perhaps find some-
thing to interest him, if one ever found his way here. A low
barrow is also observed on that side of the valley, which some
persons believe to be artificial ; it has very much the character of
the Indian mounds in other parts of the country, very regular in
its outline, and not larger than many which are known to be the
work of the red man ; occasionally it is proposed to open it, but
no step of the kind has yet been taken. There are, however,
very many low knolls about our valley, near the banks of the
river, and it is sometimes difficult to decide, from a partial exam-

ination, whether they were raised by man, or shaped by floods.

Le ee ne Te, |

cp A CR RN I Rf A

932 RURAL HOURS.

Friday, 3d.—Walked in the woods. Our sweet-fern is a
pleasant plant; there is always something very agreeable in a
shrub or tree with fragrant foliage ; the perfume is rarely sickly ;
as occasionally happens with flowers, it is almost always grateful
and refreshing. ‘These aromatic leaves of the sweet-fern are fre-
quently used in rustic practice to stop bleeding; we have never
seen the remedy tried, but have often heard it recommended.
Some of our good-wives also make a tea of the leaves, which they
say is very strengthening, and good for hemorrhage of the lungs.
The plant is also used in home-made beer.

Strictly speaking, the botanists do not call this a fern, but it
looks very much as if Adam may have called itso. It is the
only plant of the kind, in temperate climates, with a woody stem.
The botanical name of Comptonia was given it, after a bishop of
London, of the last century, who was a great botanist.

In some of the northern counties of New York, Herkimer and
Warren, for instance, acres of wild lands, whole mountain-sides,
are covered with this plant, even to the exclusion, in many places,
of the whortleberry ; in that part of the country it also grows as
a weed by the road-side, like the thistles and mulleins. In our
own neighborhood it is chiefly confined to the woods.

Saturday, 4th.—Pleasant day. At nine o’clock in the evening

set out for a moonlight walk on Mount

Beautiful night ;
the rismg moon shone through the branches, filling the woods, as
it were, with wild fantastic forms never seen by day; one seems
at such moments to be moving in a new world, among trees and
plants of another creation. The brake had a very peculiar aspect,
a faint silvery light lay upon its fronds, even in the shade, giving

the idea that in the sunshine they must be much paler in color

NIGHT SCENE. 233

than their neighbors, which is not the case; the same sort of
pale, phosphorescent light gleamed about other plants, and upon
the chips and stones in the path.

The views, after leaving the woods, were beautifully clear and
distinct. The reflections in the lake below were strangely perfect
for a night scene; village, woods, and hills lay softly repeated on
the bosom of the flood, as though it were dreaming by night
of objects dear and familiar by day. One might have counted
the trees and the fields; even the yellow coloring of the grain-
fields beside the green meadows was distinctly given.

As the night winds rose and fell with a gentle murmuring
sough, the deep bass of the frogs, and the higher notes of the in-
sect throng, continued in one unbroken chaunt. What myriads of
those little creatures must be awake and stirring of a fine summer
night! But there is a larger portion of the great family on earth
in movement at night, than we are apt to remember; because we
sleep ourselves, we fancy that other creatures are inactive also.
A number of birds fly at night besides the owls, and night hawks,
and whip-poor-wills ; very many of those who come and go be-
tween our cooler climate and the tropics, make their long journeys
lighted by the moon or the stars. The beasts of prey, as is well
known, generally move at night. Of the larger quadrupeds be-
longing to this continent, the bears, and wolves, and foxes, are
often in motion by starlight; the moose and the deer frequently
feed under a dark sky; the panther is almost wholly nocturnal ;
the wary and industrious beaver also works at night; that singu-
lar creature, the opossum, sleeps in his tree by day and comes

down at night. The pretty little flying-squirrel wakes up as twi-

234 RURAL HOURS.

light draws on; our American rabbit also shuns the day ; that
pest of the farm-yard, the skunk, with the weasels, rove about on
their mischievous errands at night. Some of those animals whose
furs are most valued, as the ermine and sable, are nocturnal; so
is the black-cat, and the rare wolverine also. Even our domestic
cattle, the cows and horses, may frequently be seen grazing in the
pleasant summer nights.

Monday, 6th.—Bright, warm day. Thermometer 84.

Heard an oriole among some elms on the skirts of the village
this morning ; it is rather late for them. We generally see little
of them after July ; when they have reared their family, and the

young have come to days of discretion, these brilliant birds seem

‘to become more shy; they are very apt to leave the villages about

that time for the woods. Some few, however, occasionally remain
later. But toward the last of this month they already take their
flight southward.

A change has come over the bobolinks also—in July they lose
those cheerful, pleasant notes with which they enliven the fields
earlier in the season ; it is true they are still seen fluttering over
the meadows from time to time, with a peculiar cry of their own,
and the young males acquire a pretty note of their own, which
they sing in the morning, but they are already thinking of moy-
ing. They are very cheerful birds, and one misses them when
they disappear. We seldom see them here in those large flocks
common elsewhere; those about us are probably all natives of
our own meadows. ‘They travel southward very gradually, visit-
ing first, in large parties, the wild rice-grounds of Pennsylvania

and Maryland, where they remain some weeks ; in October, they

my
on]
A)
|

,
S

reolicotl

Z.

Ly

L, Futran, NY.

G.

TREES—THE ASH. 235

abound in the cultivated rice plantations of Carolina, where they
also linger a while, but finally they retreat to the tropical islands.
Altogether, few birds are so long on their progress southward.

Tuesday, 7th—Walked in the Great Meadow. The old trees
which bordered this fine field in past years are fast falling before
the axe. A few summers back, this was one of the most beautiful
meadows in the valley: a broad, grassy lawn of some twenty
acres, shut out from the world by a belt of wood sweeping round
it in a wide circle; it was favorite ground with some of us, one
of those spots where the sweet quiet of the fields, and the deeper
calm of the forest, are brought together. On one hand, the trees
were of a younger growth, luxuriant and grove-like in aspect, but
beyond, the wood rose from the bank of the river in tall, grand
columns, of lighter and darker shades of gray. Nothing can be
more different than the leafy, bowery border of a common wood,
where one scarcely sees the trunks, and the bounds which mark
a breach in the ancient forest. The branchless shafts of those
aged oaks, pines, chestnuts, hemlocks and ashes, are very im-
pressive objects, forming in such positions a noble forest portal.
We have frequently stood upon the highway, perhaps half a mile
off, to admire those great trunks lighted up by the sunshine, with
which they had so lately made acquaintance ; there are few such
forest colonnades left in our neighborhood, and this is now falling
rapidly before the axeman.

The hoary trunks of the ashes are particularly fine in such situ-
ations; they are the lightest in colormg among our larger trees,
as the shaft of the hemlocks is the darkest. The ashes of this
country very frequently grow in low grounds on the banks of

rivers, We have many varieties of this fine tree in the United

236 RURAL HOURS.

States : the white, the red, the green or yellow, the blue, and the
black, besides the small and very rare flowering ash, only twenty
feet high. Of these different kinds, only the white and the black
are understood to belong to our highland county ; both these are
common here, and both are handsome and valuable trees, used
for very many mechanical purposes. The white ash, indeed, is
said to be as desirable as the hickory—our American tree being
considered superior for timber to that of Europe, which it much
resembles. When used for fuel, it has the peculiarity of burning
nearly as well ina green state as when dry, and the timber also
scarcely requires any seasoning. The black ash, more especially
a northern tree, is abundant here ; it is smaller than the white, and
is much used by the Indian basket-makers, being thought rather
preferable to the white for their purposes. It is amusing to re-
member that the small bows and arrows made to-day by the rov-
ing Indians as playthings for our boys, are manufactured out of
the same wood used for the arms of heroes in the ancient world ;
many a great warrior besides Achilles has received his death-
wound from an ashen spear; ashen lances were shivered in the
tournaments of chivalrous days, by the stout knights of the mid-
dle ages, the Richards and Bertrands, Oliviers and Edwards. At
the present day the ash is still used, with the beech, to arm the
regiments of modern lancers. Bows, also, were made of the ash,
as well as of the yew, in ancient times. For all we know, the bow
of William Tell may have been an ashen one. ‘There is one very
remarkable association connected with the European ash, which
is a hardy tree, clinging to the rocky mountains of Northern Eu-
rope. It figures largely in Scandinavian mythology. The ash-
tree, Ygodrassil, was their tree of life, or an emblem of the world.

THE ASH TREE. 237
It is singular that a sacred tree should be found in the mythology
of several different nations of the East; India, Persia, Egypt, and
Assyria. Weare not told that any particular kind of tree is speci-
fied in Eastern mythology; the Scandinavian Sagas, however, are
very particular in pointing out the ash as their sacred tree, Ygg-
drassil. Major Frye, in his translations of Gihlenschloeger, quotes
the following passage from the Edda, describing this great ash:
“This ash is the first and greatest of all trees, which spreads its
branches over the whole earth. It springs from three roots. Near
one of these roots, which pushes the trunk and branches toward
Asagard,* flows the fountain of Urda, which contains the water of
wisdom, and of which Mimerf is the guardian. The gods often
descend to this spot to sit in judgment on the actions of mankind,
and of one another. They interrogate Urda.[ The second root
of Ygedrassil stretches toward the region of the Hrimthusser§$
frost-giants of Utgard.|| The third root extends below, as far as
Niffelheim,4] and is continually gnawed by the dragon Nidhog.**
“On the branches of this ash dwells an eagle; he knoweth
much, and between his eyes sits a Hawk, cailed Vaderfalner. A

squirrel, called Ratatosk, runs up and down the trunk of the ash-

* Asagard, the country of the gods.

+ Mimer, the god of eloquence and wisdom.

+ Urda, the Norna, or destiny of the past.

§ Hrimthusser, frost-demons ; hrim,.or frost, is the origin of our English word
rvme, for hoar frost ; and thuss, or demon, is supposed by Major Frye to be the
origin of the English word deuce, though the dictionaries give another derivation.

|| Utgard, land of giants. =

1 Niffelheim, land of fog.

** Nidhog, a monster dragon.—(See Major Frye’s Translations of the ‘* Gods
of the North.’’)

038 RURAL HOURS.

tree, and endeavors to excite discord between the eagle and the
dragon Nidhog, who dwells at its root. Four stags spring round
he ash-tree and bite its branches: their names are, Dainn, Dyalen,
Dunneyr, and Durathzor.”

Many versions of this allegory have been given by different
Northern writers, and any one who pleases may try his inge-
nuity on it, as he sits in the shade of the ash-tree. They are all
connected with the good and evil in man; with the good and evil
above, and about him,—faint gleams of great truths.

Wednesday, 8th.—Very warm; thermometer 86. It is sad to
see how many of our springs are wasting away from the drought ;
in some places where we are accustomed to meet the limpid waters
flowing cheerfully through the fields and woods, we now find a
parched and thirsty track; at other points, not entirely dry, an
ample fountain has dwindled away to a meagre, dropping rill.
Rain is much needed.

Thursday, 9th—Very warm; thermometer 90. Passed the
afternoon and evening on the lake. Land and water were both
in great beauty; the lake was in that sweet mood when it seems
to take pleasure in reflecting every beautiful object; all the dif-
ferent fields, and buildings, and trees, were repeated with fidelity,
while the few white clouds floating above were also clearly given
below. The waters of our narrow lake are more frequently seen
reflecting the village, the hills, and the woods, than the clouds ;
in still weather they receive much of their coloring from the shores.
But this afternoon we noticed several of these visionary islands
lying on its bosom, and whenever seen here, they are the more
pleasing from our having nothing more substantial in this way ;

our islands are all of this shadowy character,

AUGUST FLOWERS. 239

On the larger lakes further westward, and in still weather, these
cloud islands are often very beautiful; in that more level region
the bread expanse of Cayuga and Seneca is very much colored
by the skies. Some people find fault with the great size of those
islandless lakes ; but assuredly, living water is never to be quarrelled
with in a landscape ; smaller basins with higher banks are no doubt
more picturesque, but those ample, limpid lakes are very fine in their
way. There is a noble simplicity in their every-day aspect which,
on so great a scale, is in itself imposing. The high winds so fre-
quent in that part of the country having full scope over their
broad bosoms, often work out fine storm views, while on the other
hand the beautiful sunsets of that level region color the waters
exquisitely.

Landed at Signal-Oak Point; the noble spring here was quite
full, though so many others have failed ; while standing near the
little fountain, one of our party had the good luck to discover an
Indian relic in the gravel, a flint arrow-head. It was very neatly
cut, though not of the largest size. One would like to know its
little history; it may have been dropped by some hunter who
had come to the spring, or been shot from the wood at some
wild creature drinking there at the moment. Another of these
arrow-heads was found a while since in the gravel of our own
walks ; they are occasionally turned up in the village, but are
already more rare than one would suppose.

Gathered several August flowers on the banks of the brook ;
the yellow knot-root, or Collinsonia, with its horned blossom ;
yellow speckled-jewels, more rare with us than the orange kind ;
purple asters, and a handsome bunch of red berries of the cranberry-

tree. We have frequently found the blue gentian growing here, but

240 RURAL HOURS.

—

it is not yet in flower, and the plants have been so much gathered
that comparatively few are left.

There is the skeleton of an old oak lying on the gravelly beach
of this point, which was well known in the early years of the
little colony. Deer were. very common here at that time, and of
course they were much hunted; these poor creatures, when pur-
sued, always take refuge in the water, if there be a lake or river
at hand; and when a party was out hunting in the hills it was a
common practice to station some one in the old oak at this spot,
which overhung the water, and commanded a view of the lake in
its whole length; a set of signals having been agreed on before-
hand, the scout in the tree pomted out to the hunters, by this
means, the direction taken by the game. Some few years since
this signal-oak fell to the ground, and a fragment of it now lies
on the shore. This whole grove was formerly very beautiful,
composed chiefly of noble oaks of primeval growth, many of
them hung with grape-vines, while a pretty clump of wild roses
grew at their fect ; some of the vines and many of the rose-bushes
are still left, but the trees are falling rapidly. They have
been recklessly abused by kindling fires against their trunks,
using them as chimney shafts, which of course must destroy
them. In this way, oaks that might have stood yet for centuries,
with increasing beauty, have been wantonly destroyed. Not a
season passes that one does not fall, and within the last few
years their number has very sensibly diminished. The spot is
but a wreck of what it was.

It is a long time since the signal-oak was needed by the hunt-
ers, the deer having disappeared from these woods with wonder-

ful rapidity. Within twenty years from the foundation of the

A CHASE. 241

village, they had already become rare, and in a brief period later
they had fled from the country. One of the last of these beauti-
ful creatures seen in the waters of our lake occasioned a chase
of much interest, though under very different circumstances from
those of a regular hunt. <A pretty little fawn had been brought
in very young from the woods, and nursed and petted by a lady
in the village until it had become as tame as possible. It was
eraceful, as those little creatures always are, and so gentle and
playful that it became a great favorite, followmg the different
members of the family about, caressed by the neighbors, and
welcome everywhere. One morning, after gambolling about as
usual until weary, it threw itself down in the sunshine, at the feet
of one of its friends, upon the steps of a store. There came
along a countryman, who for several years had been a hunter
by pursuit, and who still kept several dogs; one of his hounds
came to the village with him on this occasion. The dog, as it
approached the spot where the fawn lay, suddenly stopped; the
little animal saw him, and started to its feet. It had lived more
than half its life among the dogs of the village, and had appar-
ently lost all fear of them; but it seemed now to know instinet-
ively that an enemy was at hand. In an instant a change came
over it, and the gentleman who related the incident, and who
was standing by at the moment, observed that he had never in
his life seen a finer sight than the sudden arousing of instinct in
that beautiful creature. In a second its whole character and
appearance seemed changed, all its past habits were forgotten,
every wild impulse was awake ; its head erect, its nostrils dilated,
its eye flashing. In another instant, before the spectators had

thought of the danger, before its friends could secure it, the fawn
11

Di49 RURAL HOURS.

was leaping wildly through the street, and the hound in full
pursuit. The bystanders were eager to save it; several persons
instantly followed its track, the friends who had long fed and
fondled it, calling the name it had hitherto known, but in vain.
The hunter endeavored to whistle back his dog, but with no
better success. In half a minute the fawn had turned the first
corner, dashed onward toward the lake, and thrown itself into

the water. But if for a moment the startled creature be-

_ lieved itself safe in the cool bosom of the lake, it was soon un-

deceived; the hound followed in hot and eager chase, while a
dozen of the village dogs joined blindly in the pursuit. Quite a
crowd collected on the bank, men, women, and children, anxious
for the fate of the little animal known to them all ; some threw them-
selves into boats, hoping to intercept the hound before he reached
his prey; but the plashing of the oars, the eager voices of the
men and boys, and the barking of the dogs, must have filled
the beating heart of the poor fawn with terror and anguish, as
though every creature on the spot where it had once been ca-
ressed and fondled had suddenly turned into a deadly foe. It was
soon seen that the little animal was directing its course across a bay
toward the nearest borders of the forest, and immediately the owner
of the hound crossed the bridge, running at full speed in the same
direction, hoping to stop his dog as he landed. On the fawn
swam, as it never swam before, its delicate head scarcely seen
above the water, but leaving a disturbed track, which betrayed its
course alike to anxious friends and fierce enemies. As it approached
the land, the exeiting interest became intense. ‘The hunter was
already on the same line of shore, calling loudly and angrily to his

dog, but the animal seemed to have quite forgotten his master’s

A CHASE. 243

voice in the pitiless pursuit. The fawn touched the land—in one
leap it had crossed the narrow line of beach, and in another in-
stant it would reach the cover of the woods. The hound fol-
lowed, true to the scent, aiming at the same spot on the shore;
his master, anxious to meet him, had run at full speed, and was
now coming up at the most critical moment; would the dog
hearken to his voice, or could the hunter reach him in time to
seize and control him? A shout from the village bank proclaimed
that the fawn had passed out of sight into the forest ; at the same
instant, the hound, as he touched the land, felt the hunter’s strong
arm clutching his neck. The worst was believed to be over; the
fawn was leaping up the mountain-side, and its enemy under re-
straint. The other dogs, seeing their leader cowed, were easily
managed. A number of persons, men and boys, dispersed them-
selves through the woods in search of the little creature, but with-
out success; they all returned to the village, reporting that the
animal had not been seen by them. Some persons thought
that after its fright had passed over it would return of its own
accord. It had worn a pretty collar, with its owner’s name en-
graved upon it, so that it could easily be known from any other
fawn that might be straying about the woods. Before many
hours had passed a hunter presented himself to the lady whose
pet the little creature had been, and showing a collar with her
name on it, said that he had been out in the woods, and saw a
fawn in the distance; the little animal, instead of bounding away
as he had expected, moved toward him; he took aim, fired, and
shot it to the heart. When he found the collar about its neck he
was very sorry that he had killed it. And so the poor little thing

died ; one would have thought that terrible chase would have

EE I ee a

244 RURAL HOURS.

made it afraid of man; but no, it forgot the evil and remembered
the kindness only, and came to meet as a friend the hunter who
shot it. It was long mourned by its best friend.

This, if not the last chase in our waters, was certainly one of
the very latest. The bay crossed by the frightened creature has
been called “Fawn Bay,” and the fine spring in the field above
also bears the name of “Fawn Spring.”

Friday, 11th—Very warm ; thermometer 89. The village has
not been so dusty for years; of course, walking and driving are
less agreeable than usual; and yet the country looks so beauti-
fully that one is unwilling to remain long within doors.

This afternoon, by striking into a narrow cross-road. which ear-
ried us over the hills, we had a very pleasant drive; the track
was quite grassy in places, the shady boughs of an unfenced wood
overhung the carriage, and pretty glimpses of the lake and hill-
sides opened as we slowly ascended. It may be well at times to
come suddenly upon a beautiful view; the excitement of surprise
adds in many instances to the enjoyment. Where the country is
level and. commonplace, the surprise becomes an important ele-
ment from being less easily attained ; after driving through a tame,
uninteresting country, if we come suddenly upon a wild nook, with
its groves, and brook, and rocks, we no doubt enjoy it the more
from the charm of contrast. Where the landscape depends for
its merit upon one principal object, as a cascade, a small lake, a
ruin, &e., &c., the effect is the same, and it is generally desirable
that the best view be seen at once. But as regards hills and
mountains, the case is very different, for the gradual ascent is in
itself a full source of enjoyment; every turn we reach in the climb-

ing path, every rood we gain in elevation, opens some fresh object

MOUNTAINS. 245

of admiration, or throws what we have already seen into a new
light ; the woods, the farms, the hamlets, ay, whole valleys, great
hills, broad rivers, objects with which we are already familiar per-
haps, are ceaselessly assuming novel aspects. Even the minute
beauties which we note one by one along the ascending pathway,
the mountain flower, the solitary bird, the rare plant, all contrib-
ute their share of pleasure ; the very obstacles in the track, the
ravine, the precipice, the torrent, produce their own impression,
and add to the exultation with which we reach at length the
mountain-top, bringing with us a harvest of glowing sensations
gathered by the way, all forming delightful accessories to the great-
er and more exalted prospect awaiting us at the goal. Between
an isolated view, though fine in its way, and the gradual ascent
of a commanding height, there lies all the difference we find in the
enjoyment of a single ode and that which we derive from a great
poem ; it is the Lycidas of Milton beside the Othello or Lear of
Shakspeare ; a sonnet of Petrarch compared with the Jerusalem
of Torquato. So at least we thought this afternoon, as we slowly
ascended our own modest hills, and remembered the noble mount-
ains of other lands.

The country is looking very rich ; the flowery character of sum-
mer has not yet faded. Buckwheat crops, in white and fragrant
bloom, are lying on half the farms; the long leaves of the maize
are still brilliantly green, and its yellow flowers unblighted; late
oat-fields here and there show their own pallid green beside
recently-cut stubble, which still preserves the golden color of the
ripe wheat. In several meadows of the valley mowers were busy,

hay-cocks stood about the fields, and loaded carts were moving

about, carrying one back to the labors of midsummer, but these

246 RURAL HOURS.

were doubtless crops of seed grass, timothy and clover, and not
hay for fodder. The glowing August sunshine was just the light
for such a scene, gilding the hanging wood, and filling the valleys
with warmth, while a soft haze gave distance and importance to
every height.

From the most elevated point crossed by the road we looked
over two different valleys, with their several groups of broad hills,
and many a swelling knoll. Looking down from a commanding
position upon a mountainous country, or looking upward at the
same objects, leave very different impressions on the mind. From
below we see a group of mountains as pictures in one aspect only,
but looking abroad over their massive forms from an adjoining
height, we comprehend them much more justly; we feel more
readily how much they add to the grandeur of the earth we live
on, how much they increase her extent, how greatly they vary her
character, climates, and productions. Perhaps the noble calm of
these mountain piles will be more impressive from below; but
when we behold them from a higher point, blended with this ma-
jestic quiet, traces of past action and movement are observed, and
what we now behold seems the repose of power and strength after
a great conflict. The most lifeless and sterile mountain on earth,
with the unbroken sleep of ages brooding over its solitudes, still
bears on its silent head the emotion of a mighty passion. It is
upon the brow of man that are stamped the lines worn by the
care and sorrow of a lifetime ; and we behold upon the ancient
mountains, with a feeling of awe, the record of earth’s stormy
history. ‘There are scars and furrows upon the giant Alps unsoft-
ened by the beaming sunlight of five thousand summers, over

which the heavens have wept in vain for ages, which are uneftfa-

MOUNTAINS. 247

ced by all the influences at the command of Time. This char-
acter of former action adds inconceivably to the grandeur of the
mountains, connecting them as it does with the mystery of the
past; upon a plain we are more apt to see the present only, the
mental vision seems confined to the level uniformity about it, we
need some ancient work of man, some dim old history, to lead
the mind backward; and this is one reason why a monument al-
ways strikes us more forcibly upon a plain, or on level ground ; in
such a position it fills the mind more with itself and its own asso-
ciations. But without a history, without a monument, there is
that upon the face of the mountains which, from the earliest ages,
has led man to hail them as the “ everlasting hills.”

In ancient times, this expression of individual action in the
mountains was acknowledged by seer and poet. The fabled wars
of the Titans, with the uptorn hills they hurled in their strife with
the gods, may probably be traced back to this source, and sim-
ilar fables in the form given them, by Scandinavian Sagas, are
but a repetition of the same idea. We who have the most Holy
Bible in our hands, may reverently read there also imagery of the
like character. We are told by those familiar with the ancient
tongues of the East, that in the early ages of the world the great
mountains were all called the “mountains of the Lord.” The
expression occurs repeatedly in the Pentateuch. But after the
supernatural terrors which accompanied the proclamation of the
Law in the wilderness, the same idea of mountains paying especial

homage to the power of the Creator, seems to have become

blended among the Hebrews with recollections of the-quaking of
Sinai. In the 68th Psalm, written by King David, when the ark

248 RURAL HOURS.

was transported to Mount Zion, there are two different passages
in which this grand image occurs:

«The earth shook, the heavens also dropped, at the presence
of God; even Sinai itself was moved at the presence of God, at
the presence of the God of Israel.”

“Why leap ye, ye high hills? This is the hill which God
desireth to dwell in; yea, the Lord will dwell in it forever.”

The 114th Psalm, supposed to have been composed by a dif-
ferent prophetic writer, is a sublime ode, expressive throughout,
in brief and noble language, of the power of God, as shown in
the deliverance of the Israelites, and in the miraculous ministry
of the earth herself, her floods and her hills, in their behalf:

«The sea saw it, and fled; Jordan was driven back.

“The mountains skipped like rams, and the little hills like
lambs.

«What ailed thee, O thou sea, that thou fleddest? Thou Jor-
dan, that thou wast driven back ?

“Ye mountains, that ye skipped like rams, and ye little hills
like lambs ?

“Tremble, thou earth, at the presence of God; at the presence
of the God of Sinai!”

The lowly hills about us are but the last surges of a billowy
sea of ridges stretching hundreds of miles to the southward,
where they rise to a much more commanding elevation, and
attain to the dignity of mountains. But even standing upon the
humble hills of our own county—all less than a thousand feet in
height—we see some of the sights, we hear some of the sounds,

we breathe the air, we feel the spirit of a mountain land ; we have

a)

7

oO

BIRDS. 249

left the low country; the plains lie beneath us; we touch at
least upon the borders of the “everlasting hills.”

Saturday, 12th—Thermometer 87. ‘The birds seem to mind
the heat but little. True, the full gush of summer song is over,
and the change is decided from May and June; but many of the
little creatures sing very sweetly yet. A wren gave us this morn-
ing as fine a song as one could wish for, and all his family sing
yet. The song-sparrows also are in voice, and so are the green-
lets. The goldfinches also sing; we heard one this afternoon as
musical as in May; generally, however, their note differs at pres-
ent from what it was earlier in the season. ‘Their families are
now mostly at large, and one sees the birds moving idly about, as
if no longer thinking of the nest. At this moment their flight is
more irregular than at first; they rise and they drop carelessly
with closed wings, moving hither and thither, often changing their
course capriciously, and while in motion, they repeat over and
over again a series of four notes, with the emphasis on the first.
In short, many of our little friends are seen about the fields and
gardens yet, and the country is by no means silent, though the
most musical season is over. Perhaps one enjoys these occasional

songs all the more from their being heard singly, having become

more of a favor than in June. But certainly August is not the
voiceless month some people seem to fancy it.

Monday, 14th.—Very warm. ‘Thermometer 83 in the shade.
It is not often that this valley suffers so much from drought; the
last month has been unusually dry. This morning a few light clouds
were seen about sunrise, and they were anxiously watched, with
the hope of a shower; but as the sun rose, they melted away.

There is no walking out of the woods, and even in the shade of
11*

250 RURAL HOURS.

the trees it is close and sultry. Many of the forest trees are
getting a parched look, and even the little wood-plants, screened
from the direct influence of the sun, looked thirsty and feeble this
afternoon. 3

But if vegetation suffer, the insect world rejoices in this dry,
warm weather. Day and night, in the hot noontide sun, and
in the brilliant moonlight, there is an unceasing hum about the
fields and woods, much fuller in tone than usual. This is very
pleasant in its way ;—all the more so from being, like the songs
of birds, a proof that the little creatures are happy in the pass-
ing hours. We are told that insects have, in truth, no voices,
and that the sounds we hear from them are produced generally
by friction, or by striking together hard substances of different
parts of their bodies. But the character of the sound remains
the same, however it be produced. No doubt the fly enjoys the
idle buzzing of its own wings, the bee the hum which accompa-
nies its thrifty flight, and the loud chirrup of the locust is prob-
ably as much an expression of ease and pleasure, as the full gush
of song from the breast of his neighbor, the merry wren.

There are said to be very many varieties of locusts in this coun-
try. We have but few im our own neighborhood compared with the
great numbers found in other counties of this State. The large
tree-locusts are only heard with us in the warmest weather.

The Katy-did also, a very common insect elsewhere, is rare
here. We have only a few, and their pleasant cry is seldom
heard excepting in very warm evenings. During this last week,
however, we have been greeted by the locust* and the Katy-did

also,

* The Cicada, or great harvest-fly.

WASP AND SPIDER. 251

Tuesday, 15th —Very sultry ; thermometer 95 in the shade.*
The sun rose clear and bright; but soon after a few clouds gath-
ered on the hills, and hopes of rain were again awakened. Many
anxious eyes were cast upward, but the clouds dispersed, and
the heat continued unrelenting.

The geometric spiders are weaving their neat and regular webs
about the gardens and out-buildings. ‘The pea-brush and bean-
poles are well garnished with them. The earth also is covered
with webs, as usual at this season. In France the peasants call
these, as they lie spread on the grass, fils de Marie—Mary’s
threads—from some half-religious fancy ‘of olden times.

Sitting in the shade this afternoon, we watched a fierce skirmish
between a black wasp and a large spider, who had spun its web
among the tendrils of a Virginia creeper. ‘The wasp chanced to
alight on the outskirts of the spider’s domain, where his legs be-
came partially entangled; he had scarcely touched the leaf when
the watchful creature made a rapid dash at him. The antago-
nists were placed face to face; whether the wasp wounded his
enemy one could not say, but after the first touch, the spider in-
stantly retreated several inches, still keeping, however, a bold,
undisguised position, her great fixed eyes staring fiercely at the
intruder. The wasp was getting more and more entangled in
the web; he grew angry, moved his wings and legs rapidly, but
to no purpose. Seeing his situation as clearly as the spectator,
or probably more so, the spider made another attack, and the
adversaries closed in a fierce struggle. The wasp seemed anxious
to bring his sting to bear upon the enemy; the spider equally

* We have known it 97 in the village; 103 is said to be the highest it has ever
reached in the State, and that was in Orange County.

252 RURAL HOURS.

determined to wound her long-legged foe on the head, probably
by a bite with her poisonous fangs; now the wasp seemed the
sufferer ; now again the spider relaxed her hold a little. A fresh
assault of the spider was followed by a violent struggle of the
wasp, when, suddenly, whether by good luck or good manage-
ment one could not see, the web broke, the wasp’s wings were
free; he rose from the leaf, and he carried the spider with him,
whether as a captive or a pertinacious enemy, one could not de-
termine ; they were soon out of sight. Perhaps the wasp found,
before he alighted, that he had “caught a Tartar.” About five
minutes after the disappearance of the combatants, a wasp alighted
on the very same spot where the joust had taken place, and he
had a sort of agitated, eager flutter about him. It was either the
same individual who had been engaged in the fray, or else a
stranger, who, by scent or otherwise, discovered traces of the con-
test. If it was the hero of the fight, possession of the field of
battle and the enemy’s country, established his claim as victor ;
but if only an ally, the fortune of the day still remains in the
dark, and, like many other great battles, may be claimed by both
parties.

Some of our American wasps are said to hunt spiders, and
then enclose them in the cell with their young, who feed upon
them. But in the battle this afternoon the spider was clearly the
aggressor. These battles between the two races are frequent ;
but the bees and spiders seem to keep the peace.

We have but few wasps here; our most common kind is this
black variety; the large, brown wasps, so abundant elsewhere,
are unknown about the village. A smaller variety, called hornets

here, are not uncommon. But fortunately for us, the pleasant,

A DROUGHT. 253

thrifty bees far outnumber the other members of their family
about our lake.

Wednesday, 16th.— Thermometer 92. The whole country
pining for rain; not a drop has fallen here since the last of July.

During these prolonged heats the cattle suffer more, probably,
than man. In summer they love the cool shade and. refreshing
waters, but now the sweet pastures, to which they are accustom-
ed, are blighted and parched, while many a little pool and spring
about the fields, well known to them, and where they go of their
own accord to drink, they now find entirely wasted away. It is
touching to see their patience; and yet, poor creatures, unlike
man, they know nothing of hope and their Maker’s mercy.

Thursday, 1'7th.—Rain at last, to our great joy. This morning
the sun rose clear; but light clouds were soon seen gathering
slowly about the hills, then spreading gradually over the whole
sky, and veiling the valley in grateful shade. About noon the
first drops fell; the hum of insects, so loud during the last fort-
night, suddenly ceased, and was succeeded by the refreshing
sound of the rain-drops pattermg among the leaves. Most per-
sons thought the long drought and great heat would have been
followed by a severe gust and thunder-shower, which is usually
the case, but the blessing fell gently and mildly upon us this
morning. About a quarter of an hour after it had commenced
raining, the sunshine broke through-the clouds, and it was feared
the sky would clear; happily, another and a fuller cloud came
slowly down the lake, pouring a plentiful supply upon us, and it
has continued raining all day.

Friday, 18th.—Decidedly cooler. Everything much refreshed

by the shower. Still raining this morning’.

254 RURAL HOURS.

Saturday, 19th.—Decided change in the weather ; thermome-
tér 62, with cool, north wind. This sort of atmosphere is very
unfavorable to the scenery ; it lowers the hills, narrows the lake,
and altogether, the familiar objects of the landscape do not look
half so well as when a soft haze hangs upon the hills. The nat-
ural features of the country are not on a scale sufficiently grand to
rise superior above such accidents of light and shade. Most sum-
mers, we have a touch of this sort of weather—sometimes in July,
sometimes in August—this sort of cool, matter-of-fact atmosphere,
when things look unenjoyable without, and people feel cross at
having to close their doors and windows, and sometimes light a
fire.

Saw a large flock of barn-swallows hanging in clusters upon
the mullein-stalks in a waste field. They are thinking of moving.

Monday, 21st.—Very pleasant again. Walked some distance.
The grain harvest is now over, very generally, and cattle are seen
feeding among the stubble on many farms.

In this part of the world, although we have once seen a woman
ploughing, once found a party of girls making hay with the men
of the family, and occasionally observed women hoeing potatoes or
corn, we have never yet seen a sight very common in the fields of
the Old World: we have never yet met a single gleaner. Prob-
ably this is not entirely owing to the prosperous state of the coun-
try, for there are many poor among us. ‘The poor ye have with
you always, and whensoever ye will, ye may do them good.” In
the large towns, who has not seen the wretched creatures who
pick up the filthy rags from the rubbish and mud of the streets ?
Where human beings can earn a livelihood in this way in the

cities, gleaning in the fields of the country ought not to surprise

GLEANING. 255

one. Even about our villages there are not only many persons
in want, a number supported by the public, but there are usually
others, also, who may be called regular beggars; men, and wo-
men, and children, who had rather beg than work. Let not the
accusation be thought a harsh one. There are, even in our small
rural communities, fathers and mothers who teach their children
to beg, alas! who deliberately encourage their children in thiey-
ing and lying, and vice of the foulest kinds. Where such things
exist, it cannot be the great prosperity of the country which keeps
the gleaner from following in the reaper’s steps. Probably there
are several reasons why gleaning is not practiced here. Food is
comparatively cheap; our paupers are well fed, and those who
ask for food, are freely supplied by private charity. Wheat
bread, and meat, and butter, and sugar, and tea, and coffee, are
looked upon as necessaries, openly asked for by the applicant, and
freely bestowed by the giver. This comparative abundance of
food in the early days of the different colonies, and the full de-
mand for labor, were probably the reasons why the custom of
gleaning was broken up on this side the Atlantic; and the fact
that it is not customary, is one reason why it is never thought of
to-day. Then, again, our people, generally, are not patient and
contented with a little; gleaning would not suit their habits
Many of them, probably, had rather beg than glean.

But although the practice is entirely abandoned on this side the
ocean—in our part of the continent, at least—it prevails very gen-
erally in the Old World. In some countries it has been regulated
by law; in others it is governed by long-established usage. In
some villages of France and Germany, a certain day is fixed in

the commune, when the gleaning is to begin; sometimes the

256 RURAL HOURS.

church-bell rings, in other villages the beat of the drum calls the
gleaners to the fields ; peasant mothers, with their little children,
boys and girls, old and infirm men and women, are seen in little
parties moving toward the unfenced fields, and spreading them-
selves through the yellow stubble. In Switzerland, parties of the
very poor, the old and the little ones who cannot earn much,
come down from the mountain villages, where grain is not raised,
into the more level farms of the lower country, expressly to glean.
One never sees these poor creatures without much interest ; moth-
ers, children, and the aged make up the greater number of their
bands, and humble as the occupation may be, it is yet thoroughly
honest, and, indeed, creditable, so far as it shows a willingness to
undertake the lowliest task for a livelihood, rather than stand by
wholly idle.

There is no country in Europe, I believe, where gleaning is not
a general custom, from the most northern grain-growing valleys,
to the luxuriant plains of Sicily. Even in fertile Asia, and im the
most ancient times, gleaning was a common practice. The sign
of the Zodiac, called the Virgin, is said to represent a gleaner,
and that carries one back very far. The Mosaic laws contain mi-
nute directions for gleaning. While the children of Israel were
yet in the wilderness, before they had conquered one field of the
Promised Land, they received the following injunctions :

“And when ye reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not
wholly reap the corners of thy field; neither shalt thou gather
the gleanings of thy harvest. And thou shalt not glean thy vine-
yard, neither shalt thou gather every grape of thy vineyard ; thou
shalt leave them for the poor and the stranger: I am the Lord

your God.’’—Lev; xix.

GLEANING. On”

«When thou cuttest down thine harvest in thy field, and thou
hast forgot a sheaf in the field, thou shalt not turn again to fetch
it: it shall be for the stranger, for the fatherless, and for the
widow: that the Lord thy God may bless thee in all the work of
thine hands.” —Deut. xxiv.

Whether a custom of this kind already prevailed in the ancient
world before the days of Moses, we cannot determine, since the
Pentateuch is the oldest authority extant. The earlier books of
the sacred writings, Genesis and Exodus, contain nothing on the
subject. Some of the precepts of the Mosaic code, however, are
known to be merely a confirmation and repetition of those given
still earlier, such as those which enjom sacrifice and circumcision,
&c., &c. Many others doubtless flowed first, at the period of the
Exodus, from Almighty wisdom and mercy, like the raising of
the tabernacle, the establishment of the Levitical Priesthood, &c.,
&c. ‘The protection of the gleaner may have belonged to either
class of precepts; but its minuteness partakes very much of the
character of the Hebrew law, and it is quite possible that it may
have been first inculcated from the lips of Moses in the wilder-
ness. Whatever be the origin of the custom, it has since spread
far and wide; it was a simple form of charity, natural to a primi-
tive age, and during thirty-three hundred years at least, it has
prevailed in the world. There is, I believe, no part of the Old
World where it has not been more or less practiced, whether in
Asia, Africa, or Europe; and it is possible there may be some
portions of this continent also where it is customary, though we
have never seen any allusion to it by travellers, either in North
or South America, Within the limits of our own country, it is

believed to be entirely unknown.

258 RURAL HOURS.

One never thinks of gleaning without remembering Ruth.
How wholly beautiful is the narrative of sacred history in which
we meet her! One of the most pleasing pictures of the ancient
world preserved to our day, it is at the same time delightful as a
composition. Compare it for a moment with the celebrated epi-
sode in the “Seasons,” and mark how far above the modern poet
stands the ancient Hebrew writer. Undoubtedly, Thomson’s
imitation is an elegant, graceful, polished pastoral, in charmingly
flowing verse, but, as Palemon himself expresses it, the tale
is rather “romantic.” Lavinia, though ‘beauty’s self,” and
charmingly modest, is yet, alas! rather doll-like; one doubts if
she really suffered very much, with that ‘smiling patience” in
her look, and those “ polished limbs,” “veiled in a simple robe.”
And Palemon, “ pride of swains,” “who led the rural life in all
its joy and elegance,” ‘amusing his fancy with autumnal scenes” —
_ we have always had certain misgivings that he was quite a com-
monplace young squire. It is unwise to be very critical in read-
ing, for one loses much pleasure and instruction by being over-nice
and fault-finding in these as in other matters; but really, it was
such a bold step in Thomson to remind one of Ruth, that he
himself is to blame if the comparison inevitably suggests itself,
and as inevitably injures his pretty little English lass. We never
look into the Seasons, without wishing that Crabbe had written
the gleaning passages.

As for Ruth, the real Ruth, her history is all pure simplicity,
nature and truth, m every line. Let us please ourselves by dwell-
ing on it a moment. Let us see Naomi, with her husband and
sons, driven by famine into the country of the Moabites ; let us

hear that the two young men married there, and that, at the end

RUTH. 259

of ten years, the mother and her daughters-in-law were alike wid-
owed. Naomi then determines to return to her own country ;
both her daughters-in-law set out with her. Orpah and Ruth
had alike been faithful to the Jewish family : “The Lord deal
kindly with you as ye have dealt with the dead, and with me,”
says Naomi, as she urges them to leave her and go back to their
own friends. Both the young women wept, and both answered,
‘Surely we will return with thee unto thy people.” Naomi again
urges their leaving her: “Twn again, my daughters, why will
ye go with me?” “And Orpah kissed her mother-in-law, but
Ruth clave unto her.” ‘This is the first sentence that betrays the
difference between the young women; both had been kind and
dutiful to their husbands and mother-in-law, but now we see one
turning back, and the other cleaving to the poor, and aged, and
solitary widow. No positive blame is attached to Orpah, but
from that instant we love Ruth. Read over her passionate re-
monstrance with her mother-in-law: “Thy people shall be my
people; thy God my God. Where thou diest wil I die, and
there will I be buried.” We follow the two women to Bethle-
hem, the fative town of the family: “ And all the city was moved
about them, and they said, Is this Naomi?” ‘And she said, Call
me not Naomi, call me Mara, for the Almighty hath dealt very bit-
terly with me: I went out full, and the Lord hath brought me home
again empty.” It was at the beginning of the barley harvest when
they came to Bethlehem, and now we find Ruth preparing to
glean. Probably gleaning was at this time a custom among the
neighboring nations also, for the proposal comes from Ruth her-
self, and not from her Jewish mother-in-law, who merely signifies

her assent: “Go, my daughter.” The young widew went, and

260 RURAL HOURS.

“her hap was, to light upon a part of the field belonging to Boaz.”
An obsolete word that, “her hap,” for she happened. Presently
we see the owner of the field coming from Bethlehem, and we
hear his salutation to the reapers: “The Lord be with you; and
they answered him, The Lord bless thee.”

Doubtless, in those ancient times, the people all lived together
in towns and villages for mutual protection, as they did in Europe
during the middle ages—as they still do, indeed, to the present
hour, m many countries where isolated cottages and farm-houses
are rarely seen, the people going out every morning to the fields
to work, and returning to the villages at night. While looking
over his reapers, Boaz remarks a gleaner, a young woman whom
he had not yet seen; the other faces were probably familiar to
the benevolent man, the poor of his native town, but this was a
stranger. Now, it is nowhere said that Ruth was beautiful; very
possibly she was not so; we have always been rather disposed to
believe that of the two Orpah may have been the handsome one.
The beauty of many women of the Old Testament is mentioned
with commendation by the different writers of the sacred books,
as that of Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and a number more; but we
are nowhere told that Ruth was “ well favored.” We read of
her devotion to Naomi; of her gentleness, her humility; of her

?

modesty, for she did not “follow young men,” and all the peo-
ple knew she was “a virtuous woman;” but not a word is
uttered as to her being fair to look at. The omission is the more
marked, for she is the principal character in a narrative of four
chapters. With the exception of Sarah and Esther, no other
woman of the Old Testament fills so large a space; and it will be

remembered that the beauty of both Sarah and Esther is distinctly

—

RUTH. 961

mentioned. No; with Ruth the attention is wholly fixed on the
moral qualities, and the sacred historian has thus assigned her a
place beside the Christian women of the New Testament, where
personal appearance is in no instance even alluded to. May we not,
then, please ourselves with believing that Ruth was not beautiful ;
that she had merely one of those faces which come and go with-
out being followed, except by the eyes that know and love them ?
Boaz no sooner learns who she is than he gives her a most kindly
welcome: “ Hearest thou not, my daughter? Go not to glean
in another field; neither go from hence, but abide here fast by
my maidens. Have I not charged the young men that they shall
not touch thee? And when thou art athirst, gc unto the vessels
and drink of that which the young men have drawn.” We are
not told that Boaz was an old man, but it is implied in several
places. He calls Ruth “My daughter,” and he is mentioned as
a kinsman of Naomi’s husband; he commends her for not follow-
ing “young men, whether rich or poor,” and. there is a certain
calmness and dignity in his manner and conduct throughout the
narrative, such as one would naturally connect with the idea of
an elderly man. The generous kindness and the upright sim-
plicity of his conduct toward Ruth are very beautiful. When the
young widow, “falling on her face,” asks humbly, “ Why have
I found grace in thine eyes, that thou shouldst take knowl-
edge of me, seeing-I am a stranger?” He answers, “It hath
fully been showed me all that thou hast done unto thy mother-
in-law, smee the death of thy husband ;’—“a full reward be
given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou
art come to trust.” Ruth was poor, and had doubtless met with

neglect and harshness. She was generous and warm-hearted

262 RURAL HOURS.

herself, and could justly value the kindness of others ; she thanks
the owner of the field, “‘for that thou hast comforted me, and for
that thou hast spoken friendly unto thine handmaid.” The word
given here as friendly, is rendered in the margin “to the heart.”
The phrase may be a common Hebrew expression, but it has a
strength of feeling characteristic of the speaker. Blessed, indeed,
are the lips that “speak to the heart” of the afflicted; and bless-
ed is the sorrowing soul who hears them! Boaz asks the young
widow to eat with his people at meal-time: “ Eat of the bread,
and dip thy morsel in the vinegar.” “And she sat beside the
reapers, and he reached her parched corn.” The vinegar men-
tioned here is supposed to mean a kind of acid wine frequently
named by ancient writers; and the parched corn was probably
half-ripe ears of wheat or barley roasted in this way; a common
article of food in the East during all ages. ‘« And when she was
g, Let

her glean even among the sheaves, and reproach her not. And

risen up to glean, Boaz commanded his young men, sayin

let fall some of the handfuls of purpose for her, and leave them
that she may glean them, and rebuke her not. So she gleaned
in the field until even, and beat out that she had gleaned; and it
was about an ephah of barley.” An ephah was about a bushel
of our measure ; and barley was a grain highly valued in Judea,
where it was much used for food. A bushel seems a large quan-
tity ; but it is surprising what full sheaves some of the gleaners
will carry home with them, now-a-days, and in fields where no
handfuls are dropped on purpose. It was only when Ruth told
her mother of her good success that she learned that Boaz was a
near kinsman of her former husband, and, consequently, accord-

ing to the Jewish law, one upon whom she might have claims,

RUTH. 263
Naomi bids her follow the reapers of Boaz according to his wish ;
and she did so “through the barley-harvest, and through the
wheat-harvest, and she-dwelt with her mother-in-law.” It was
at the close of the harvest that Ruth, followmg Naomi’s direc-
tions, laid herself down at night, at the feet of Boaz, as he slept
on the threshing-floor ; an act by which she reminded him of the
law that the nearest of kin should marry the childless widow
This act has been very severely commented on. Upon this
ground only, M. de Voltaire has not scrupled to apply to Ruth
one of the most justly opprobrious words in human language ;
and several noted skeptics of the English school have given this
as one among their objections against the Holy Scriptures.* As
though in a state of society wholly simple and primitive, we were
to judge of Ruth by the rules of propriety prevailing in the
courts of Charles II. and Louis XV. Ruth and Boaz lived, in-
deed, among a race, and in an age, when not only the daily
speech, but the daily life also, was highly figurative ; when it was
the great object of language and of action to give force and ex-
pression to the intention of the mind, mstead of applying, as in a
later, and a degenerate society, all the powers of speech and
action to concealing the real object in view. The simplicity with
which this peculiarly Jewish part of the narrative is given, will
rather appear to the impartial judge a merit. But the Christian
has double grounds for receiving this fact in the same spirit as it
is recorded, and upon those grounds we may feel confident that,
had Ruth been a guilty woman, or had Boaz acted otherwise than
uprightly toward the young widow, neither would have been

spared the open shame of such misconduct. The Book of Ruth

* See Letters of the Jews to Voltaire.

064 RURAL HOURS.
has always been received by the Church, both Jewish and Chris-
tian, as a part of the inspired Scriptures; it must, therefore, be
essentially true, and no evil word or deed finds a place in the
narrative. Then, again, the impartiality of the sacred biographers,
from the first to the last books of the Holy Scriptures, is so very
striking, so very peculiar to themselves, so widely different from
the eulogies or apologies of uninspired men under similar circum-
stances, that reason alone requires us to receive each narrative
simply as it is given. We read with a feeling of awe of the oc-
casional failings and sins of such men as Noah, Abraham, Aaron,
and David; the whole nature of man stands humbled before us,
while the mercy of our God rises, indeed, exalted above the
heavens! We feel that these passages are laid open to us by the

same Omniscient Spirit which searches our own hearts by the same

just hand which weighs our own words, and thoughts, and deeds
in the balance. And if such men as Abraham, and Aaron, and
David were not spared by the inspired pen, why should it screen
the Moabitish widow, and the comparatively unimportant Boaz ?

The writer of the narrative has not, by one word, imputed sin to

either. How dare the mind of the reader do so? One may add
a word for the skeptic, since this passage has been made a pointed
subject of objection by men of that school. There are but three
positions which the infidel can take upon the subject: he may,
with the Christian, believe the Book of Ruth to be true, in which
case he is bound to receive the facts as they are given; he may
hold the narrative to be a compound of fiction and truth, and
then plain justice requires that those points upon which the
Scriptural writers have always shown such marked impartiality be
charged to the side of truth, and he is at liberty to doubt any

other passage of the book rather than this particular one; he

4d

RUTH. 265

may, lastly, declare the book to be, in his opinion, wholly fieti-
tious; in this case he is bound, by common sense, to receive the
narrative precisely as it is written, since it is a broad absurdity to
judge fictitious characters otherwise than as they are represented.
If he suppose one act or one view beyond what the writer pre-
sents or implies, he may as well sit down and compose an entire
fabric of his own, and then the world will have one Book of Ruth
in the Holy Bible, and another among the works of Mr. A., B.,
or C,

When Boaz found Ruth lying at his feet, he immediately under-
stood the action as figurative. ‘And it came to pass at midnight
that the man was afraid, and turned himself, and behold a woman
lay at his feet.” —« And he said, Who art thou? And she an-
swered, I am Ruth, thine handmaid; spread therefore thy skirt,”
or wing, “over thy handmaid, for thou art a near kinsman.” Her
whole answer is figurative, like the act. Spreading the skirt, or
wing, was a common Hebrew phrase, implying protection, and it
is said to be, to this day, a part of the Jewish marriage ceremony.
Boaz well knew that the action and the words were intended to
remind him of the law, that the “near kinsman” should marry
the widow. ‘And now, my daughter, fear not; I will do thee
all that thou requirest: for all the city of my people doth know
that thou art a virtuous woman. And now it is true that I am
thy near kinsman, howbeit there is a kinsman nearer than I. Tarry
this night, and it shall be in the morning, that if he will perform
unto thee the part of a kinsman, well; let him do the kinsman’s
part: but if he will not do the part of a kinsman to thee, then
will I do the part of a kinsman unto thee, as the Lord liveth: lie

down until the morning.” ‘ And she lay at his feet until the morn-
12

ti

266 RURAL HOURS.

ing.”” When, at dawn, she is going, he bids her bring her veil, and
measures six measures of barley in it, saying, “ Go not empty unto
thy mother-in-law.” The occurrences in the concluding chapter,
at the gate of the town, are strikingly ancient, oriental, and Jew-
ish. The nearer kinsman declines to fulfill the duties enjoined by
the law, he does not wish to buy the “ parcel of land,” or to marry
Ruth, “lest he mar his own inheritance ;” he makes over the duty
to Boaz, giving him his shoe as a token, a singular and very prim-

itive custom; but we are reading now of times before the date of

the Trojan war, chronology having placed these incidents in the

fourteenth century before Christ. Boaz then calls upon all present
to be witnesses to the contract by which he engaged to buy the
land, and to marry the widow. “ And all the people that+ewere in
the gate, and the elders, said, We are witnesses. The Lord make
the woman that is come into thine house like Rachel, and like
Leah, which two did build the house of Israel: and do thou wor-
thily in Ephratah, and be famous in Bethlehem.” Probably be-
fore the six measures of barley were eaten, Ruth entered the
house of Boaz as his wife. Naomi went with her; and in time
Ruth gave a grandson to the aged widow : “ And Naomi took the
child, and laid it in her bosom, and became nurse unto it.” “ And
the women said unto her, He shall be unto thee the restorer of thy
life, and a nourisher of thine old age, for thy daughter-in-law which
loveth thee, which is better to thee than seven sons, hath borne
him.” This ghild became in the course of years the grandfather
of David; Ruth received the honor coveted by every Jewish

woman—she was one in the line between Sarah and the Blessed

Virgin, the mother of our Lord. It was undoubtedly to record

her place in the sacred genealogy, or rather for the sake of that

CLIMBING

FERN. [lLygodium Palmatum.

G.P Putram, wv Yr.

Enolicotks Ltih, WV. ye

FERNS. 267

genealogy, that the book was written, and has received a place in
the Holy Scriptures.

We have meanwhile strayed a wide way from our own unglean-
ed fields; but the history of Ruth is m itself so very beautiful,
and it is so full of interest, as connected with a very remote an-
tiquity, beyond the reach of the oldest Greek literature, that one
never turns to it without pleasure. While plodding on our daily
round of duties, if the eye fall by chance upon a picture of
some great old master, we gladly lmger a moment to enjoy its
beauty and excellence ; and thus the noble devotion of Ruth, seen
amid the ancient frame-work of the sacred historian, never fails to
delight the imagination, to refresh the mind, to strengthen the
heart, whenever we turn to it from the cares of our own path
through life.

Tuesday, 22d.—Pleasant ; walked in the woods. Gathered a
fine bunch of ferns. All the plants of this kind growing in our
neighborhood belong, I believe, to the common sorts. We have
none of the handsome climbing-fern here, with its palmate leaves ;
it is found nearly as far north as this, but nearer the coast, and on
lower ground. The walking-fern, also, another singular variety,
rooting itself like the banyan, from the ends of its long entire
leaves, is a stranger here, theugh found within the State. The
maiden-hair, with its very deliwate foliage, and polished brown
stem, is the prettiest variety we have near us.

Wednesday, 23d.—The swallows have left the chimneys. This
evening they were flying over the grounds in parties, as though
preparing to take leave. There was something peculiar in their
movement ; they were flying quite low, through the foliage of the

_ trees, and over the roof of the house, returning again and again,

268 RURAL HOURS.

upon their former track. We watched them for more than an
hour, while they kept up the same evolutions with much more
regularity than usual; perhaps they were trying their wings for
the journey southward.

It is amusing to look back to the discussions of naturalists
during the last century, upon the subject of the migration of
swallows: a number of them maintained that these active birds
lay torpid durmg the cold weather in caves and hollow trees ;
while others, still more wild in their theories, supposed that swal-
lows went under water and passed the winter in the mud, at the
bottom of rivers and pools! Grave and learned were the men
who took sides in this question, for and against the torpid the-
ory. One might suppose that it would have required a great
amount of the clearest evidence to support a notion so opposed
to the general habits of those active birds; but the facts that
among the myriads of swallows flitting about Europe, one was oc-
casionally found chilled and torpid, that swallows were frequently
seen near the water, and that durmg the mild days of autumn a
few stragglers appeared again, when they were supposed to re-
vive, made up the chief part of what was urged in favor of these
notions. It would be difficult to understand how sensible people
could be led to maintain such opinions, were it not that men, both
learned and unlearned, often show a sort of antipathy to simple
truths. Thomson, in the Seasons, alludes to this strange notion ;

speaking of the swallows, he says:

‘* Warn’d of approaching winter, gathered, play
The swallow people ; and toss’d wide around
O’er the calm sky, in convolution swift,

The feather’d eddy floats ; rejoicing once

a

oo

is

SWALLOWS. 269

Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire;

In clusters clung, beneath the mould’ring bank,

And where, unpierc’d by frost, the cavern sweats.

Or rather into warmer climes convey’d

With other kindred birds of season,

There they twitter cheerful.”
He seems rather to have inclined himself to the better opinion.*

In ancient times the swallows were very naturally included

among other migratory birds; there is said to be an old Greek
ode in which the return of the swallow is mentioned. The
Prophet Jeremiah has an allusion to the wandering of the swal-
low, which he includes among other migratory birds: “ Yea, the
stork in the heavens knoweth her appointed times, and the turtle,
and the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their coming ;
but my people know not the judgment of the Lord.”—Jer., viii.
7. Indeed, it is but just to the common sense of man to say that
the obvious fact of the migration of those swift-winged birds
seems only to have been doubted during a century or so; and
among the achievements of our own age may be numbered that of
a return to the simple truth on this pomt of ornithology. We hear
nothing now-a-days of the mud or cave theories.

Thursday, 24th.—Brilliant day. Passed the afternoon on the

lake. ‘The views were very beautiful. Downy seeds of various

kinds, thistle, dandelion, &e., &e., were thickly strewed over the
bosom of the lake; we had never before observed such numbers
of them lying on the water.

Saw a crane of the largest size flying over the lake, a mile or

* It is said that Linnaeus firmly believed that the swallows went under water
during the winter ; and even M. Cuvier declared that the bank swallows had

this habit. At present the idea is quite abandoned for want of proof.

270 RURAL HOURS.

two to the northward of our boat. A pair of them have been
about the lake all summer; they are said to be the large brown
crane. We found one of their young this afternoon lying dead
upon the bank of a brook, to which we gave the name of Crane
Brook onthis occasion. It was a good-sized bird, and seemed to
have been killed in a fight with some winged enemy, for it had
not been shot. As for the boldness of calling the brook after it,
the pretty little stream had no namebefore ; why not give it one?

Last summer a pair of eagles built their nest on one of the
western hills, which we ventured to call Eagle Hill, on the same
principle. These noble birds are occasionally seen hovering over
the valley, though not often.

Measured an old grape-vine in the glen, near Crane Brook ; it
proved to be seven inches in circumference.

Friday, 28th.—Observed the chimney swallows again this even-
ing wheeling in a low flight over the roof, and through the foliage
of the trees. It looked as though they were taking leave of us.
They have deserted the chimneys, but we have not discovered
where they pass the night. Perhaps in the hollow trees in the
woods, for there are many such at hand. Mr. Wilson says, it fre-
quently happens that these birds make their general rendezvous
when they first come, and just before they leave, in the chimneys

of the Court-House, if there be one in the place; they seem to

find out that such chimneys are little used. But we have never.

heard of the swallows honoring our own Court-House in this way.

Saturday, 26th—Again we observed the chimney swallows,
flying over the house and through the trees, Just as they have
done these four or five evenings. Perhaps there is some particu-

lar insect among the leaves which attracts them just now.

AMNYRNT S700 901 T- Kin wma J)

“"MOTTIVMS AATNWIHD

= 9
- fetta
sitesinde deaiciercanes.2

— fe
°

SWALLOWS. On

Saw a few barn-swallows also, this afternoon ; but most of these
seem to have left us already.

Monday, 28th.—About sunset this evening observed many
night-hawks flying over the village. |

We happened once to-see a large flight of these birds. We
were travelling a short distance north of the Mohawk, at this very
date, the 28th of August, when, about an hour before sunset, a
number of large birds were seen rising from a wood to the east-
ward, all moving slowly in a loose, straggling flock, toward the
south-west. They proved to be night-hawks; and they continued
passing at intervals until an hour after sunset. They seemed to
heed each other very little, bemg seldom near together, but all
were aiming in the same direction. We must have seen several
hundreds of them, in the course of the two hours they were in
sight.

Tuesday, 29th.—The swallows have moved their parade-ground
this evening. We missed them about the house, but found them
wheeling over the highway, near the bridge, the very spot where
we first saw them in the spring.

Wednesday, 30th.—Walked in the woods. Observing an old
branchless trunk of the largest size, in a striking position, where
it looked like a broken column, we walked up to examine it. The
shaft rose, without a curve or a branch, to the height of perhaps
forty feet, where it had been abruptly shivered, probably in some
storm. The tree was a chestnut, and the bark of a clear, unsul-
lied gray ; walking round it, we saw an opening near the ground,
and to our surprise found the trunk hollow, and entirely charred
within, black asa chimney, from the root to the poimt where it

was broken off. It frequently happens that fire steals into the
12* ;

272 RURAL HOURS.

heart of an old tree, in this way, by some opening near the roots,
and burns away the inside, leaving merely a gray outer shell.
One would not expect the bark to be left in such cases, but the
wood at the heart seems more inflammable than the outer growth.
Whatever be the cause, such shafts are not uncommon about our
hills, gray without, charred within.

There is, indeed, much charred wood in our forests ; fires which
sweep over the hills are of frequent occurrence here, and at times
they do much mischief. If the flames are once fairly kindled in
dry weather, they will spread in all directions as the wind varies,
burning sometimes for weeks together, until they have swept over
miles of woodland, withering the verdure, destroying the wood al-
ready cut, and greatly injuring many trees which they do not con-
sume. Several years since, in the month of June, there was quite
an extensive fire on the eastern range of hills; it lasted for ten
days or a fortnight, spreading several miles in different directions.
It was the first important fire of the kind we had ever seen, and
of course we watched its progress with much interest; but the
spectacle was a very different one from what we had supposed.
It was much less terrible than the conflagration of buildings in a
town; there was less of power and fierce grandeur, and more of
treacherous beauty about the flames as they ran hither and thither
along the mountain-side. The first night after it broke out we
looked on with admiration ; one might have thought it a general
illumination of the forest, as the flames spread in long winding
lines, gaining upon the dark wood every moment, up and
down, and across the hill, collecting here and there with greater
brilliancy about some tall old tree, which they hung with fire like

a giant lustre. But the next day the sight was a sad one indeed :

FIRE IN THE WOODS. 273

the deceitful brilliancy of the flames no longer pleased the eye ;
wreaths of dull smoke and hot vapors hung over the blighted
trees, and wherever the fire had wandered there the fresh June
foliage was utterly blasted. That night we could no longer take
pleasure in the spectacle ; we could no longer fancy a joyous il-
lumination. We seemed rather to behold the winding coils of
some fiery serpent gliding farther and farther on its path of evil ;
a rattling, hissing sound accompanying its movement, the young
trees trembling and quivering with agitation in the heated cur-
rent which proclaimed its approach. The fresh flowers were all
blighted by its scorching breath, and with its forked tongue it fed
upon the pride of the forest, drying up the life of great trees, and
without waiting to consume them, hurrying onward to blight other
groves, leaving a blackened track of ruin wherever it passed.

Some fifty years since a fire of this kind is said to have spread
until it enclosed within its lines the lake and the valley, as far
as one could see, surrounding the village with a network of flame,
which at night was quite appalling in its aspect. The danger,
however, was not so great as it appeared, as there was everywhere
a cleared space between the burning forest and the little town.
At times, however, very serious accidents result from these fires ;
within a few days we have heard of a small village, in the north-
ern part of the State, in St. Lawrence county, entirely destroyed
in this way, the flames gaining so rapidly upon the poor people
that they were obliged to collect their families and cattle in boats
and upon rafts, in the nearest pools and streams.

Of course, more or less mischief is always done; the wood and
timber already cut are destroyed, fences are burnt, many trees are

killed, others are much injured, the foliage is more or less blighted
12%

O74 RURAL HOURS.

for the season; the young plants are killed, and the earth looks
black and gloomy. Upon the whole, however, it is surprising that
no more harm is done. On the occasion of the fire referred to
in these woods, we found the traces of the flames to disappear
much sooner than we had supposed possible. The next season
the smaller plants were all replaced by others; many of the
younger trees seemed to revive, and a stranger passing over the
ground to-day would scarcely believe that fire had been feeding
on those woods for a fortnight only a few seasons back. A group
of tall, blasted hemlocks, on the verge of the wood, is the most
striking monument of the event. The evergreens generally suffer
more than other trees, and for some cause or other the fire con-
tinued busy at that point for several days. We repeatedly passed
along the highway at the time, with the flames at work on either
side. Of course, there was no danger, but it looked oddly to be
driving quietly along through the fire. The crackling of the
flames was heard in the village, and the smell of smoke was oc-
casionally quite unpleasant.

A timely rain generally puts a stop to the mischief; but par-
ties of men are also sent out into the woods to “fight. the fire.”
They tread out the flames among the dry leaves by trampling
them down, and they rake away the combustible materials, to
confine the enemy to its old grounds, when it soon exhausts itself.
The flames spread more frequently along the earth, than from tree
to tree.

Thursday, 31st.—The water-lilies are still in blossom; opening
quite early in the season, they continue to flower until the frost
cuts them off. We found numbers of them in Black-bird Bay

this evening.

WATER-LILIES. 275

Our water-lilies in this lake are all of the yellow kind. The
fragrant white lily is not known to grow either in the lake, or in
any of the little: pools and marshy spots very near. It is, how-
ever, to be found a short distance to the northward of our own
waters.* The yellow variety is common enough about the neigh-
borhood.

The roots of this yellow lily were a favorite repast with the
moose, and no doubt those great, unwieldy animals have often
stood in the shallow water of the little bay we now call after the
black-birds, feeding on the lilies, which must have always grown
there.+ The beaver, also, was very partial to these plants, and as
he was no stranger here in Indian times, probably he may often
have been at this spot taking his share of the lies. But it is now
more than fifty years since these plants have bloomed only for
man, and the bees, and the black-birds. The last, probably, heed
them very little, although they are near neighbors, generally
haunting the low point which forms the bay, whenever they visit
our neighborhood.

One of the noblest plants of our country belong to this tribe
of the water-lilies: the Nelumbo, or sacred bean, or water-chin-
quapin, as it is sometimes called. Its great leaves are from one
to two feet broad, and its pale yellow blossom about half a foot
in diameter. It is chiefly in our western waters that the Nelumbo
is found ; in this part of the country it is much more rare. There

is, however, one locality in our own State where it grows, and that

* We have recently heard of a white lily gathered from the lake about two
years since, but have never seen one ourselves. Formerly, they are said to have
been more common here.

+ The deer are also very fond of the water-lilies.

276 RURAL HOURS.

is on the northern frontier, Sodus Bay, Lake Ontario. It is also
found at one poimt in the Connecticut, and in the Delaware,
below Philadelphia. Wherever it is seen, it attracts attention,
from the great size of the leaves and the blossom.

This noble flower belongs to a very celebrated family ; it calls
cousin with the famous Hindoo and Egyptian Lotus, being one of
the varieties of that tribe. In Hindoo and Egyptian fable, these
plants were held very sacred, as emblems of the creation. In
Hindostan, the lotus was an attribute of Ganga, the goddess of
the Ganges, and was supposed to have been produced by Vishnu,
before the earth was created, and when its first petals unfolded,
they discovered the deity Brama lying within. In Egypt, the
flower was sacred to Isis, believed to have been given her by
Osiris, and was associated with their own sacred river, the Nile;
it was also the emblem of Upper Egypt, as the papyrus was of
Lower Egypt. Very many traces of these ancient superstitions
are still seen blended with the architecture, bas-reliefs, paintings:
&e., &c., and whatever remains to us of those nations. There
appear to have been several kinds of lotus represented on the an-
cient Egyptian monuments. One was white, with a fruit like that

of the poppy; another bore blue flowers, with the same fruit ;

the third, and the most celebrated, is mentioned by Herodotus as

the lily-rose, and was also called the flower of Antinous ; the
blossom-was of a beautiful red, and the fruit like the rose of a
watering-pot, with large seeds like filberts. These are all said to
be found at present in India, but what is smgular, the finest, the
lily-rose, has now disappeared from Egypt, where it was for-
merly in such high consideration. ‘The blue variety is still found
there.

WATER-LILIES. 277

At the present day, the lotus is more honored in Asia than in
Egypt. The Hindoos still consider it a sacred flower. In Cey-
lon, they have a variety which they call Nelumbo, whence our own
name. A. number of varieties are said to be found in China,
where it is also sacred; this does not prevent the Chinese from
eating it, however, and it is much cultivated by them as an arti-
cle of food. The seeds of the Lien Wha, as they call it, are of
the form and size of an acorn, and are considered more delicate
than almonds; the root, also, is boiled ; or sliced raw, and served
with ice in summer; or laid up in salt and vinegar for winter use.

These fine plants seem to have an aversion to the soil or climate
of Europe; it is said that the ancient Romans attempted to culti-
vate them in Italy, without success, and that modern European
horticulturists have also failed in their efforts to cultivate them in
hot-houses. And yet, in this part of the world, the Nelumbo
grows in the icy waters of Lake Ontario. Both the large seeds,
and the root of our American variety, are said to be very pleasant
to the taste—the latter is not unlike the sweet potato.

AUTUMN.

Friday, September 1st.—Glorious night. The moon rose early
in the evening, with unusual splendor, ascending into a cloudless
sky, with a brilliancy and power in her light quite remarkable.
The stars were all pale and dim. The blue of the sky and the
oreen of the trees were clearly seen; even the character of the
foliage on the different trees was plainly marked. The lake and
hills might have been almost as well known to a stranger as by
day. The whole village was like a brilliantly-lighted room; one
knew their acquaintances in the street, and could distinguish their
different dresses. Within doors, the moonbeams poured a flood
of silvery light through the windows; lamps and candles seemed
needless ; one could: go all about the house withoué their assist-
ance, and we read both letters and papers with ease.

The frogs were singing in full chorus, and the insect world was
wide awake, humming in every field. It seemed really a shame
to close one’s eyes upon such anight. Indeed, there was nothing
this evening of the calm, still, dreamy character of common moon-
light, but rather an animating, exciting power in the fullness of
light, which seemed to rival the influence of the busy day.

Saturday, 2d.—Saw a few barn-swallows about a farm-yard,
some miles from the village. The chimney-swallows have not

yet disappeared. The goldfinches are scouring the fields and

230 RURAL HOURS.

gardens in flocks, feasting upon the ripe seeds; at this moment,
they have a little chatty note, which is very pleasant, though
scarcely musical; but as they all seem to be talking at once, they
make a cheerful murmur about the thickets and fields.

Monday, 4th—Many of the maple leaves are now covered with
brilliant crimson patches, which are quite ornamental; these are
not the autumnal change in the color of the leaf itself, for that
has not yet commenced, but little raised patches of crimson,
which are quite common upon the foliage of our maples in Au-
gust and September. Many persons suppose these to be the
egos of some insect; but they are, I believe, a tiny parasitic veg-
etable, of the fungus tribe, like that frequently seen on the bar-
berry, which is of a bright orange color. The insects who lay
their eggs in leaves, pierce the cuticle of the leaf, which distends
and swells over the young insect within; but the tiny parasitic
plants alluded to are not covered by the substance of the leaf,
they rise above it, and are quite distinct from it. Those on the
maple are the most brilliant of any in our woods.

The leaves of the wych-hazel are frequently covered with large
conical excrescences, which are doubtless the cradle of some in-
sect; over these, the cuticle of the leaf itself rises, until it grows
to a sharp-pointed extremity. Some leaves show a dozen of these
excrescences, and few bushes of the wych-hazel are entirely free
from them. Occasionally, one finds a good-sized shrub where
almost every leaf has been turned to account in this way, the
whole foliage bristlng with them. Indeed, there is no other tree
or bush in our woods so much resorted to by insects for this pur-
pose as the wych-havel ; all the excrescences bear the same form,

so that they probably belong to the same insect, which must be

«
,

4

od

GOLDEN-RODS. 281

a very common one, judging from the provision made for the
young. But so little attention has yet been paid to entomology
in this country, that we have not been able to discover, from any
books within reach, what little creature it is which crowds the
wych-hazel leaves in this way.

Those excrescences made by insects are probably always inju-
rious to the plant, the little creatures generally feeding on the
juices of the foliage, which they often destroy ; but the tiny para-
sitic plants of the Aicidium tribe are comparatively harmless,
and they are frequently ornamental.

Tuesday, 5th.—A party of chimney-swallows were seen wheel-
ing over the highway, near the bridge, this afternoon.*

Wednesday, 6th.— Delightful weather. Long walk. The Mich-
aelmas daisies and golden-rods are blooming abundantly in the
fields and woods. Both these common flowers enliven the au-
tumn very much for us, growing freely as they do im all soils and
situations, for, unlike the more delicate wild flowers of spring, they
are not easily driven from the ground, growing as readily in the
fields among foreign grasses as in their native woods. By their
profusion, their variety, and their long duration, from midsummer
to the sharpest frosts of autumn, they console us for the disap-
pearance of the earlier flowers, which, if more beautiful, are more
fragile also.

The golden-rod is a fine showy plant in most of its numerous
forms. There are said to be some ninety varieties in North Ameri-

ca, and about a third of these belong to our own part of the con-

tinent, the Middle States of the Union. Of this number, one, with

* These were the last swallows seen that season in our neighborhood.

Sa a ee

Ree
+ Seal*
- > te

282 RURAL HOURS.

a pyramidal head, has fragrant leaves. Another is common to
both Europe and America; this is one of the smaller and insignfi-
cant kinds, but the only plant of the family found on both conti-
nents. Perhaps the golden-rods are not quite so luxuriant with
us, and in the lower counties; the larger and more showy kinds

seem more abundant in the valley of the Mohawk than upon our

hills. Still, they are common enough here, lining all the fences

just now. The silver-rod, or Soledago bicolor, abounds in our
neighborhood ; the bees are very fond of it; at this season, and
even much later, you often find them harvesting the honey of this
flower, three or four bees on one spike.

As for the Michaelmas daisies, they can scarcely thrive better
anywhere than in our own region—common as possible in all tke
fields and woods. There would seem to be a greater variety
among these flowers than in any other family except the grasses ;
botanists count some hundred and thirty American asters, and of
these, about one-fourth belong to this part of the country. The
difference between many of these is very slight, scarcely percep-
tible to the casual observer; but others, again, are very strongly
marked. We all note that some are quite tall, others low ; that
some bear very small blossoms, others large and showy flowers ;
some are white, others pinkish, others grayish, those purple, these
blue. Their hearts vary also in color, even upon the same plants,
according to the age of the different flowers, the centre being
either yellow, dark reddish purple, or pale green; and this enli-
vens the clusters very much. ‘The leaves, also, are widely differ-
ent in size and form. All this variety, added to their cheerful
abundance, gives interest to this common flower, and makes it a

favorite with those who live in the country. They remain so long

WILLOW LEAVED GOLDEN ROD. (Solidago Stricta.]

CG F Putnam, Vi x

Eraicotty Lits

BIRD-BELLS. 283

in bloom, that toward the close of the season, the common sorts
may all be found together. Some of the handsomer kinds, large,
and of a fine purple color, delight in low, moist spots, where, ear-
ly in September, they keep company, in large patches, with the
great bur-marigold, making a rich contrast with those showy
golden blossoms.

It is well known that both the golden-rods and asters are con-
sidered characteristic American plants, beng so much more nu-
merous on this continent than in the Old World.

Another flower, common in our woods just now, is the Bird-
bell, the Nabalus of botanists. There are several varieties of
these; the taller kinds are fine plants, growing to a height of
four or five feet, with numerous clusters of pendulous, straw-col-
ored bells, strung along their upper branches. If the color were
more decided, this would be one of our handsomest wild flowers ;
its numerous blossoms are very prettily formed, and hung on the
stalks with peculiar grace, but they are of a very pale shade of
straw color, wanting the brilliancy of warmer coloring, or the
purity of white petals. These plants are sometimes called lion’s-
foot, rattlesnake-root, &c., but the name of Bird-bell is the most
pleasing, and was probably given them from their flowermg about
the time when the birds collect in flocks, preparatory to their
flight southward, as though the blossoms rung a warning chime
in the woods, to draw them together. The leaves of the Bird-bell
are strangely capricious in size and shape, so much so at times,
that one can hardly credit that they belong to the same stalk ;
some are small and simple in form, others are very large and ca-
pricious in their broken outline. Plants are sometimes given to

caprices of this kind in their foliage, but the Bird-bell indulges in

984 RURAL HOURS.

far more fancies of this sort than any other with which we are
acquainted in this neighborhood.

Yellow Gerardias are in flower still im the woods, and so is the
Hawk-wort. The blue Gentian is also m bloom now; though
not common, it is found in spots about the lake.

We gathered, this afternoon, some flowers of the partridge-

berry and squaw-vine, the only spring blossoms still found in the |

woods. Directly in the path, as we were going up Mount 1 WE
also found a large dragon’s-claw, or corallarhiza; its brown stalk

and flowers measured about fifteen inches in height, and it was

divided into eight leafless branches.

Thursday, 7th.—Cooler. Went down to the great meadow for.

lady’s tresses, which grow there plentifully. Pretty and fragrant,

these flowers are not unlike an autumn lily of the valley; one is.

puzzled to know why they should be called lady’s tresses—possi-
bly from the spiral twist of the flowers on the stalk. Gathered
also a fine bunch of purple asters, and golden bur-marigolds ; these
last were slightly fragrant.

This evening we kindled our autumn fires.

Friday, 8th.—Lovely day ; warm, silvery mist, gradually clear-

ing to soft sunshme. Passed a charming morning at the Cliffs.
The wych-hazel is in bloom; brown nuts and yellow flowers on
the same twig. Gathered some speckled-jewels, partridge-berry,
and squaw-vine blossoms. Found a purple rose-raspberry in flow-
er; it is always pleasant to meet these late flowers, unlooked-for
favors as they are. A year or two since the wild roses on this
road flowered in September, a second bloom; and the same sea-
son a number of our earlier garden roses bore flowers the second

time as late as the 16th of September.

BERRIES. 985

Blackberries still very plenty, and sweet; they have not brought
any to the village lately, people seem tired of them. Found also
a few red raspberries, whortleberries, and the acid rose-berry.
This is a land of berries; a large portion of our trees and plants
yield their seed in this form. Among such are the several wild
cherries, and plums, the amelanchiers and dog-woods, the mountain
ash, the sumachs, and the thorns; all the large bramble tribe,
with their pleasant fruits, roses, raspberries, the blackberry, and
the gooseberry ; the numerous whortleberries, and bilberries, vi-
burnums, and honeysuckles, spikenards, and cohoshes ; pokeweed,
the trilltums, the convallarias, and the low cornel, clintonia, and
medeola ; the strawberry, the partridge plant, and squaw-vine, &c.,
&c. These are all common, and very beautiful while in season.
Without going at all out of our way this morning, we gathered a
very handsome bunch of berries, some of a dark purple, others
light, waxy green, these olive, those white, this scarlet, that ruby
color, and others crimson, and pale blue. The berry of the round-
leaved. dog-wood is of a very delicate blue.

The snowberry, so very common in our gardens, is a native
of this State, but I have never heard of its being found in this
county. 7

The birds were feasting upon all these berries at the Cliffs ; saw
quite a gathering of them in a sumach grove, robins, blue-birds,
sparrows, goldfinches, cat-birds, wild pigeons, and woodpeckers ;
there were several others also perched so high that it was not easy
to decide what they were. ‘The little creatures were all very ac-
tive and cheerful, but quite songless ; a chirrup, or a wild call,

now and then, were the only sounds heard among them.

Saturday, 9th.—Pleasant morning in the woods. Much amused

286 RURAL HOURS.

by squirrels. First found a little chipmuck, or ground squirrel,
sitting on a pile of freshly-cut chestnut rails, at a wild spot in
the heart of the wocds. The little creature saw us as we ap-
proached, and took a seat not far from him; he moved quickly
a few yards and then resumed his sitting position, with his face
toward us, so as to watch our movements. He was holding some-
thing in his fore paws, which he was eating very busily; it was
amusing to watch him taking his dinner; but we were puzzled to

know what he was eating, for it was evidently no chestnut, but

covered with down, which he brushed away from his face, now

and then, quite angrily. For nearly ten minutes he sat there,
looking toward us from time to time; but we were curious to
know what he was eating, and moved toward him, when he van-
ished among the rails; he left a bit of his dinner, however ; this
proved to be the heart of a head of half-ripe thistle, in which the
seed had not yet formed ; it looked very much like a miniature ar-
tichoke, and he seemed to enjoy it exceedingly. Returning to our
seat, he reappeared again upon the rails. Presently a beautiful
red squirrel made his appearance, m the notch of a tall old pine,
perhaps fifty feet from the ground ; a hemlock had been uprooted,
and in falling its head had locked in this very notch, its root was
near the spot where we were sitting. ‘This squirrel is very fond
of the cones of the hemlock, and other firs, and perhaps he had
run up the half-prostrate trunk in quest of these; at any rate, he
took this road downward. He paused every few steps to utter
the peculiar cry which has given them the name of chickaree, for
they often repeat it, and are noisy little creatures. He came de-
liberately down the whole length of the trunk, chatting and wav-

ing his beautiful tail as he moved along. After leaving the tree

SQUIRRELS. 287
he played about, here and there, apparently in quest of nuts, and
he frequently came very near us of his own accord; once we
might have struck him with ease, by stretching out our parasols,
His large eyes were beautiful. This kind of squirrel eats most of
our grains, wheat, rye, buckwheat. He swims quite well, and is
found as far south as the mountains of Carolina. His fur is thought
the best among his tribe.

Passing under a chestnut-tree by the road-side, we had farther
occasion to observe how fearless the squirrels are in their inter-
views with mankind. A little fellow was cutting off chestnut
burs with his teeth, that they might drop on the ground ; he had
already dropped perhaps a dozen bunches ; after a while he came
down, with another large cluster of green burs in his mouth, with
these he darted off into the woods, to his nest, no doubt. But
he soon came back, and taking up another large cluster from the
ground, ran off again. ‘This movement he repeated several times,
without being at all disturbed, though he evidently saw us stand-
ing a few yards from him. These gray squirrels are common in
every wood, and they say that one of them is capable of eating
all the nuts yielded by a large tree ; one of them had been known
to strip a butternut-tree, near a house, leaving only a very meagre
gleaning for the family. These little creatures sometimes under-
take the most extraordinary journeys ; large flocks of them set out
together upon a general migration. Some forty years since a
great migration of this kind took place among the gray squirrels,
in the northern part of this State, and in crossing the Hudson
above Albany, very many of them were drowned, ‘This was in
the year 1808.

tes

uu
288 RURAL HOURS.

There 1s another larger gray squirrel not so common, called the
fox squirrel, measuring two and a half feet in length.

| The black squirrel is small, only a foot long; its fur is of a

glossy jet black. We saw one this summer, but at a distance
from our lake. They are nowhere very common, and are rather
| a northern variety, not seen south gf Pennsylvania. There is a
deadly feud between these and the gray squirrels, and as their
enemies are the largest and the most numerous, they are invariably
driven off the nutting-grounds when both meet. The two kinds
are said never to remain long together in the same neighborhood.

These, with the flying squirrel, make up all the members of
their family found in our State. The pretty little flying squirrels
are quite small, about nine inches long. They are found here and
there through this State, and indeed over the Union, and in Mex-

ico also. ‘They live in hollow trees, but we have never had the

good luck to meet one in our rambles. They are seldom seen, |
however, in the daytime, dozing away until twilight.

Monday, 11th.—Church-yards are much less common in this
country than one might suppose, and to judge from the turn
things are takmg now, it seems probable this pious, simple cus-
tom of burying about our churches, will soon become obsolete.

As it is, the good people of many rural neighborhoods must make

which to read Gray’s Elegy. A great proportion of the places
of worship one sees here have no graves near them. In the vil-
lages they make part of the crowd of buildings with little space —
about them; nor does it follow that in the open country, where

land is cheaper, the case is altered; you pass meeting-houses

t
|
|
a day’s journey before they can find a country church-yard in
:
|

THE CHURCHYARD. 289

standing apart, with broad fields spreading on all sides, but no
graves at hand. Some distance beyond, perhaps, you will come
to a square enclosure, opening into the highway, and this is the
cemetery of the congregation. Small family burying-grounds,
about the fields, are very common; sometimes it is a retired spot,
neatly enclosed, or it may be only a row of graves in one corner
of the meadow, or orchard. Walking in the fields a while since,
we were obliged to climb a stone wall, and on jumping down into

the adjoining meadow, we found we had alighted on a grave ;. there

were several others lying around near the fence, an unhewn stone

at the head and foot of each humble hillock. ‘This custom of
burying on the farms had its origin, no doubt, in the peculiar cir-
cumstances of the early population, thinly scattered over a wide
country, and separated by distance and bad roads from any place
of public worship. In this way the custom of making the graves
of a family upon the homestead gradually found favor among the
people, and they learned to look upon it as a melancholy gratifi-
cation to make the tombs of the departed members of a family
near the dwelling of the living. ‘The increase of the population,
and the improvement of the roads on one hand, with the changes
of property, and the greater number of villages on the other, are
now bringing about another state of things. Public cemeteries
for parishes, or whole communities, are becoming common, while
the isolated burial-places about the farms are more rare than they
used to be.

The few church-yards found among us are usually seen in the
older parishes ; places of worship, recently built, very rarely have
a yard attached to them. The narrow, crowded, abandoned

church-yards, still seen in the heart of our older towns, have be-
13

290 RURAL HOURS.

come, in the course of time, very striking monuments to the dead.
Nowhere is the stillness of the grave so deeply impressive ; the
feverish turmoil of the living, made up of pleasure, duty, labor,
folly, sin, whirling in ceaseless movement about them, is less than
the passing winds, and the drops of rain to the tenants of those
grounds, as they lie side by side, in crowded but unconscious
company. The present, so full, so fearfully absorbmg with the
living, to the dead is a mystery; with those mouldering remains
of man the past and the future are the great realities. The still-
ness, the uselessness if you will, of the old church-yard in the
heart of the bustling city, renders it a more striking and impres-
sive memento mort than the skull in the cell of a hermit.

We hear from time to time plans for changes which include
the breaking up of those old church-yards in the towns. We are
told that those old graves are unsightly objects; that a new
square on the spot would be more agreeable to the neighborhood ;
that a street at this particular point would be a very convenient
thoroughfare, and would make A, B, or C richer men by some
thousands. Such are the motives usually urged in defence of
the act:—embellishment, convenience, or gain. But which of
these is of sufficient force to justify the desecration of the tomb ?
Assuredly necessity alone can excuse the breach of equity, of
decency, of good faith, and good feeling involved in such a step.
Man is the natural guardian of the grave; the remams of the
dead are a solemn deposit entrusted to the honor of. the living.
In the hour of death we commend our souls into the hands of
our Maker; we leave our bodies to the care of our fellow-crea-
tures. Just so long, therefore, as each significant mound bears a

trace of its solemn character, just so long should it be held sacred

THE CHURCHYARD. 291

by the living. Shall we, in a Christian land, claim to have less
of justice, less of decency and natural feeling, than the rude
heathen whose place on the earth we have taken; a race who
carefully watched over the burial-places of their fathers with un-
wavering fidelity ?. Shall we seek to rival the deed of the brutal
wrecker who strips the corpse of the drowned man on the wild
shore of the ocean when no honest arm is near? Shall we fol-
low in the steps of the cowardly thief who prowls in the dark-
ness about the field of battle to plunder the lifeless brave? Shall
we cease to teach our children that of all covetousness, that which
would spoil the helpless is the most revolting ? Or, in short, shall
we sell the ashes of our fathers that a little more coin may jingle
in our own pockets ?

It matters little that a man say he should be willing his own
erave should be broken up, his own bones scattered to the
winds; the dead, whom he would disturb, might tell a different
tale could their crumbling skeletons rise up before him, endowed
once more with speech. There was a great man who, if we may
believe the very solemn words on his tomb, has spoken in this
instance, as in ten thousand others, the strong, natural language

of the human heart:

‘¢ Good friend, for Jesus’ sake forbeare

To dig the dust enclosed here ;

Blest be he that spares these stones,

And curst be he that moves my bones.”

In this new state of society—in this utilitarian age—it behooves
us, indeed, to be especially on our guard against any attack upon

the tomb; the same spirit which, to-day, stands ready to break

open the graves of a past generation, to-morrow, by carrying out

292 RURAL HOURS.

the same principle, may deny decent burial to a brother. It may
see useless expense in the shroud, waste of wood in the coffin,
usurpation of soil in the narrow cell of the deceased. There is,
indeed, a moral principle connected with the protection of the
graye, which, if given up, must inevitably recoil upon the society
by whom it has been abandoned.

The character of a place of burial, the consideration or neglect
it receives, the nature of the attention bestowed on it, are all in-
timately connected with the state of the public mind on many
important subjects. There is very little danger in this country of
superstitions connected with the grave. What peril there is hes
on the other side. Is there no tendency toa cold and chilling in-
difference upon such subjects among our people? And yet a
just consideration of Death is one of the highest lessons that
every man needs to learn. Christianity, with the pure wisdom of
Truth, while it shields us on one hand from abject, cowardly fear,
on the other hand is ever warning us alike against brutal indif-
ference, or the confidence of blind presumption. With all the
calmness of Faith, with all the lowliness of Humility, with all the
tenderness of Charity, and with the undying light of heavenly
Hope at her heart, the Christian Church sits watching beside the
graves of her children.

‘The oldest tomb belonging to the good people of this little
town lies within the bounds of the Episcopal Church-yard, and
bears the date of 1792. It was a child who died of the small-
pox. Close at hand is another stone bearmg a date two years
later, and marking the grave of the first adult who fell among
the little band of colonists, a young man drowned while bathing

in the lake—infancy and youth were buried before old age. At

THE CHURCHYARD. 293

the time these graves were dug, the spot was in a wild condition,
upon the border of the forest, the wood having been only partially
cut away. In a few years other members of the little community
died, one after another, at intervals, and they were also buried
here, until the spot had gradually taken its present character of a
burying-ground. The rubbish was cleared away, place was made for
those who must follow, and ere many years had passed, the brick
walls of a little church rose within the enclosure, and were con-
secrated to the worship of the Almighty, by the venerable Bishop
Moore, And thus this piece of ground was set apart for its
solemn purposes, while shaded by the woods, and ere it had been
appropriated to common uses: the soil was first broken by the spade
of the grave-digger, and Death is the only reaper who has gathered
his harvest here. The spot soon lost its forest character, however,
for the older trees were all felled; possibly some among them
may have been used as timber in building the little church. Hap-
pily, at the time of clearing the ground, a few young bushes were
spared from the axe, and these having been left to grow at will,
during the course of half a century, have become fine flourishing
trees. The greater number are pines, and a more fitting tree for
a Christian church-yard than the white pine of America could
searcely be named. With all the gravity and unchanging char-
acter of an evergreen, they have not the dull gloom of the cypress
or the yew; their growth is noble, and more than any other va-
riety of their tribe, they hold murmuring communion with the
mysterious winds, waving in tones of subdued melancholy over
the humble graves at their feet. A few maples and elms, and a
fine amelanchier, appear among them, relieving their monotonous

character, Some of these have been planted for that purpose,

294. RURAL HOURS.

but the pines themselves are all the spontaneous growth of the
soll. Judging from their size, and what we know of their
history, they must have sprung up from the seed about the time
when the first colonists arrived—contemporaries of the little town
whose graves they overshadow.

The tombs themselves have all a natural interest for the peo-
ple of the place, but there are none to attract the attention of a
stranger. One of the earlier Missionaries in these parts of the
country is buried here among his flock; he came into the woods
a young man, passed a long life in preaching the Gospel among
the different hamlets about, and died at last much respected and
esteemed for his simplicity of character and faithful performance
of the duties of his sacred office. One day, as he was walking
through the church-yard with a brother clergyman, he pointed
out a spot beneath two pines, expressing a wish to lie there,
when the work of life should be over. Years after this conver-
sation, he died in another parish, and was buried there; but he
was nominal rector of this church at the time, and his friends
were aware that he wished his body removed to this ground.
Steps were accordingly taken, his remains were brought here, and
laid in a grave selected by one of the vestry. A simple monu-
ment of white marble was raised to his memory by the different
parishes he had founded in the county. Some years later, the
clergyman to whom the old Missionary had pointed out the spot
where he wished to be buried, happened to preach here, and
passing through the church-yard, he paused to look at the monu-
ment, observing that he was pleased to find his friend had been
laid in the very spot chosen by himself so long before; and it was

only then the parish learned that their old rector had pointed out

THE CHURCHYARD. 295

this same position for his grave, a vestryman having chosen t
without bemg aware of the fact. Thus the wish of the old ser-
vant of God was unconsciously fulfilled by those who were igno-

rant of it.

“** 'The dead in Christ, they rest in hope,
And o’er their sleep sublime,
The shadow of the steeple moves,
From morn, to vesper chime.
On every mound, in solemn shade,
Its imaged cross doth lie,
As goes the sunlight to the west,

Or rides the moon on high.”

Tuesday, 12th—Delightful walk. Many flocks of birds in
movement, wheeling in the sunshine, or alighting upon the trees
and fences. Saw a large hawk in full flight before a few king-
birds—a common sight enough. Crows, also, when they meet
the stout-hearted king-birds in the corn-fields, which they fre-
quently do at this season, are sure to retreat before their spirited

enemy. ven the eagle is worsted by them at times, and keeps

out of their way.

The butterflies were enjoying the bright, warm day. We ob-
served one, a common yellow butterfly, who had been soaring
very high; he came down from the top of a tall pine, growing on
high ground, and made a long descent to the glen below, without
pausing. Generally, these little creatures fly low. In England,
they have a handsome butterfly, which they call the “ Emperor ;”
he lives entirely on the tallest forest trees, and never descends to
the ground, his exalted position having been the cause of his re-
ceiving the title; I do not know whether we have any in this

country with the same habits.

296 RURAL HOURS.

The woods, generally, are green as midsummer—but a small
shrub here and there is faintly touched with autumnal colors.

Wednesday, 13th.—Bright and pleasant. Slight touch of frost
in the clear moonlight of last night, the first we have had this
autumn. It has left no traces, and seems only to have fallen in
spots; even the tomato-vines in the garden are untouched.

As we were standing on the wharf, we observed burr-marigolds
growing in a spot usually covered with water the year round. The
lake has been very low lately, but this particular spot can only
have been out of water three or four weeks at the utmost, and
here we have plants already grown up and in flower. They are
annuals, I believe. ‘

Thursday, 14th.—Rainy, cheerless day. Short walk toward
evening. Sawa couple of snail-shells, in a tuft of fern, by the
road-side. How much less common are these land-snails in our
part of the world than in Europe; in the Old World, you find
them in the fields and gardens at every turn, but here we only
see one now and then, and chiefly in the woods.

Friday, 15th.—Strong wind from the south, rustling with a
full, deep sough through the trees. The locusts, as their branches
bend before the wind, show their pods prettily—some clusters
bright yellow, others a handsome red, as they are more or less
ripe. The Virginia creepers are turning cherry color; they are
always the first leaves to change.

Saturday, 16th.—Pleasant, soft weather. The farmers are
ploughing and sowing grain, and have been doing so for some

days ; they are earlier than they used to be with their autumn

seed-time. The buckwheat fields are tuning red, and will soon

be cut. The maize-stalks are drying and withering as the ears

PUMPKIN PIES. 297

ripen ; on some farms, they are harvesting both crops—red buck-
wheat sheaves, and withered corn-stalks, are standmg about the
fields. All through the summer months, the maize-fields are
beautiful with thew long glossy leaves; but when ripe, dry and
colorless, they will not compare with the waving lawns of other
grains. The golden ears, however, after the husk has been taken
off, are perhaps the noblest heads of grain in the world; the rich
piles now lying about the fields are a sight to rejoice the farmer’s
heart.

The great pumpkins, always grown with maize, are also lying
ripening in the sun; as we have had no frost yet, the vines are
still green. When they are harvested and gathered in heaps, the
pumpkins rival the yellow corn in richness; and a farm-wagon
earrying a load of husked corn and pumpkins, bears as handsome
a load of produce as the country yields. It is a precious one, too,
' for the farmer and his flocks.

Cattle are very fond of pumpkins ; it is pleasant to see what a
feast the honest creatures make of them in the barn-yard ; they
evidently consider them a great dainty, far superior to common
provender. But in this part of the world, not only the cattle, but
men, women, and children—we all eat pumpkins. Yesterday, the
first pumpkin-pie of the season made its appearance on table. It
seems rather strange, at a first glance, that in a country where
apples, and plums, and peaches, and cranberries abound, the
pumpkin should be held in high favor for pies. But this is a
taste which may probably be traced back to the early colonists ;
the first housewives of New England found no apples or quinces in
the wilderness ; but pumpkins may have been raised the first sum-

mer after they landed at Plymouth. At any rate, we know that
13*

298 RURAL HOURS.

they were soon turned to account in this way. The old Holland-
er, Van der Donck, in his account of the New Netherlands, pub-
lished in 1656, mentions the pumpkin as being held in high favor
in New Amsterdam, and adds, that the English colonists—mean-
ung those of New England—“use it also for pastry.” This is
probably the first printed allusion to the pumpkin-pie in our an-
nals. Even at the present day, in new Western settlements, where
the supply of fruit is necessarily small at first, pumpkins are
made into preserves, and as much pains are taken in preparing
them, as though they were the finest peaches from the markets
of Philadelphia and Baltimore. When it is once proved that
pumpkin-pies were provided for the children of the first colonists
by their worthy mothers, the fact that a partiality for them con-
tinued long after other good things were provided, is not at all
surprising, smce the grown man will very generally be found to
cherish an exalted opinion of the pies of his childhood. What
bread-and-milk, what rice-puddings, can possibly equal the bread-
and-milk, the rice-puddings of the school-boy ? The noble sex,
especially, are much given to these tender memories of youthful
dainties, and it generally happens, too, that the pie. or pudding so
affectionately remembered, was home-made ; you will not often
find the confectioner’s tart, bought with sixpence of pocket-money,
so indelibly stamped in recollections of the past. There is at all
times a peculiar sort of interest about a simple home-made meal,
not felt where a cordon-bleu presides; there is a touch of anxiety
in the breast of the housekeeper as to the fate of the boiled and
roast, the bread and paste, preserves and other cates, which now
changes to the depression of a failure, now to the triumph of bril-

liant success, emotions which are of course shared, in a greater or

PUMPKIN-PIES. 299

less degree, by all who partake of the viands, according to the
state of the different appetites, and sensibilities. But this ghost
of the school-boy pie, this spectral plum-pudding, sitting in judg-
ment upon the present @eneration of pies and puddings, when it
takes possession of husband, brother, or father, has often proved
the despair of a housekeeper. In such a case, no pains-taking
labors, no nice mixing of ingredients, no careful injunctions to cook
or baker, are of any use whatever; that the pie of to-day can
equal the pie of five-and-twenty years since, is a pure impossibili-
ty. The pudding is tolerable, perhaps—it does pretty well—they
are much obliged to you for the pains you have taken—yes, they
will take a little more—another spoonful, if you please—still, if
they must speak with perfect frankness, the rice-pudding, the
plum tart, the apple-pie they are now eating, will no more com-
pare with the puddings, and tarts, and pies eaten every day ‘in
past times at their good mother’s table, than—language fails to
express the breadth of the comparison! Such being man’s na-
ture, apropos of pies and puddings, it follows, of course, that the
pumpkin-pies eaten by the first tribe of little Yankee boys were
never equalled by those made of peaches and plums in later years,
and the pumpkin-pie was accordingly promoted from that period
to the first place in pastry, among all good Yankees. Probably
the first of the kind were simple enough; eggs, cream, brandy,
rose-water, nutmegs, ginger, and cinnamon, are all used now to
flavor them, but some of these ingredients must have been very
precious to the early colonists, too valuable to be thrown into
pies.

Probably there was also another reason why the pumpkin-pie

was so much in favor in New England: it had never made part

300 RURAL HOURS.

of Christmas cheer: it was not in the least like the mince-pie,
that abomination of their stern old fathers. We hardly know
whether to laugh or to ery, when we remember the fierce attacks
made upon the roasted boar’s-head, the mince-pies, and other
good things of that kind, by the early Puritans; but when we
recollect the reason of this enmity, we mourn over the evils that
prejudice brings about in this world. Strange, indeed, that men,
endowed with many Christian virtues, should have ever thought
it a duty to oppose so bitterly the celebration of a festival in honor
of the Nativity of Christ! Happily, Time, the great ally of Truth,
has worked a change in this respect; Christmas is kept through-
out the country, and mince-pies are eaten with a quiet conscience
and very good appetite by everybody. And what is vastly to the
credit of the community, while all have returned to the mince-pie, all
are quite capable of doing justice to a good pumpkin-pie also, and
by a very happy state of things, the rival pastries are found on
the same tables, from Thanksgiving to Ash-Wednesday. Mince-
pies are even more in favor in this country than in England ; some
people eat them all the year round ; I have been offered a slice
on the eve of the 4th of July. Those made by the farmers’ wives
about the country are, however, very coarse imitations of the real
thing ; their paste is made with lard, and always heavy ; coarsely-
hashed meat, and apples, and suet, with a little spice, are the chief
ingredients, and a dish more favorable to dyspepsia could not
easily be put together.

Monday, 18th.—A_ pair of the golden-winged woodpeckers, or
clapes, as many persons call them, have been on the lawn all the
afternoon. These large woodpeckers often come into the village,

especially in the spring and autumn, and they are frequently seen

LNOYT SHOOT PUT “ve “unuzNg Id

ae oad GOOMmM CGaGgyan—- Gawd

oo

WOODPECKERS. 301

on the ground, running their bills into the grass in quest of ants
and their eggs, which are favorite food with them. ‘They are
handsome birds, differing in some respects from the other wood-

peckers, and peculiar to North America, although two kindred

varieties of golden-winged woodpeckers are found about the Cape,

of Good Hope. But they have no bird in Europe at all like
ours.

Besides the clape, we frequently see the downy woodpecker,
and the hairy woodpecker, in the village; the first is the smallest
of its tribe in America, and the second, which is a little larger,
differs from it chiefly in the red band on its head. Both these
birds make holes innumerable in the trunks of many trees, not
only for insects, but for the sake of the sap also, which they
drink ; they are called sap-suckers by the country people, on that
account. Frequently one sees a tree completely riddled, by a
succession of these holes, which go round the trunk in regular
rings, many of the circles lying close together ; Mr. Wilson says
that they are often so near together, that one may cover eight or
ten of these holes with a silver dollar. Both these smaller wood-
peckers are often seen on the rails of fences hunting for insects ;
and both remain here through the winter.

The handsome red-head, one of the migratory woodpeckers, is
much more rare in our neighborhood than it used to be, but it is
still found here, and we have seen them in the village. They are
naturally sociable birds. A hundred miles to the westward, they
are very numerous, even at the present day.

The large pileated woodpecker, or log-cock, a resident in

Pennsylvania through the winter, is said to have been occasion-

ee
mh

802 RURAL HOURS.

ally seen here of late years; but we have never observed it
ourselves. It is quite a forest bird.

Besides these, there are the red-bellied, and the yellow-bellied,
coming from the south, and rarely seen in this part of the State.
The arctic and the banded woodpeckers, coming from the north,
are occasional visitors, but we have never met them.

Tuesday, 19th.—Mild, soft weather lately ; to-day, high gust,
with rain. Those leaves that had at all loosened their hold, locusts
and Virginia creepers, are flymg before the wind. The apples,
blown off, are lymg under the trees, scattered in showers over the
green grass.

Saw a flock of wild pigeons ; they have not been very numer-
ous in our neighborhood lately, but every year we have a few of
them. These birds will goa great distance for food, and their flight
is astonishingly rapid. A pigeon of this kind is said to have been
killed in New York during the rice season, with undigested Caro-
lina rice in its crop; and as they require but twelve hours for di-
zestion, it is supposed that the bird was only a few hours on his
journey, breakfasting on the Santee, and dining on the Hudson.
At this rate, it has been calculated that our passenger-pigeon
might go to Europe in three days ; indeed, a straggler is said to
have been actually shot in Scotland. So that, whatever disputes
may arise as to the rival merits of Columbus and the Northmen,
it is very probable that American pigeons had discovered Europe
long before the Europeans discovered them.

Thursday, 21st—Equinox. Warm; showeryas April. Sun-
shine, showers, and rainbows succeeding each other through the

day. Beautiful effect of light on the hills; a whole mountain-

303

MUSHROOMS.

side on the lake shore bathed in the tints of the rainbow, the col-
ors lying with unusual breadth on its wooded breast. Even the
ethereal green of the bow was clearly seen above the darker ver-
dure of the trees. Only the lower part of the bow, that which
lay upon the mountain, was colored ; above, the clouds were just
tinged where they touched the brow of the hill, then fading away
into pale gray.

Tce at table still, We Americans probably use far more ice
than most people; the water for drmking is regularly iced, in
many houses, until late in the autumn, when the frost cools the
springs for us out of doors.

Friday, 22¢d.—Mushrooms are springing up by the road-side
and in pasture-grounds ; they are not so numerous as last year,
however, when the fungus tribe abounded. Mushrooms are not
much eaten in our country neighborhood; people are afraid of
them, and perhaps they are right. Certainly, they should never
be eaten unless gathered by a person who understands them thor-
oughly. In France, they are not allowed to be offered for sale, I
believe, until inspected by an officer appointed for the purpose.
There is a good old Irish mother who supplies one or two houses
in the village when they are in season, and she understands them
very well.

The Indians of this part of the continent ate mushrooms. Poor
creatures, they were often reduced to great extremities for food,
from their want of forethought, feeding upon lichens, tripe de
roche, and everything edible which grew in the forest. “But
mushrooms seem to have been considered by them as a great
delicacy. A Chippewa, when speaking with Major Long on the

subject of a future life, gave the following account of the opinions

304 RURAL HOURS.

prevailing among his people: ‘In this land of souls, all are treat-
ed according to their merits.” “The wicked are haunted by the
phantoms of the persons or things they have injured ; thus, if a man
has destroyed much property, the phantoms of the wrecks of this
property obstruct his passage wherever he goes; if he has been
cruel to his dogs, they also torment him after death ; the ghosts
of those whom during his lifetime he has wronged, are there per-
mitted to avenge their wrongs.” ‘Those who have been good
men are free from pain; they have no duties to perform ; their
time is spent in dancing and singing, and they feed upon mush-
rooms, which are very abundant.” Thus, mushrooms appear to
be the choice food of the Chippewa heroes in the happy hunting-
erounds.

Saturday, 23d.— Lovely evening ; soft and mild, windows open;
the sun throwing long shadows on the bright grass of the lawn.
But for a light touch of autumn here and there, we might have
believed ourselves at midsummer.

The last melons were eaten to-day. The grapes are ripening ;
many years we lose them by frost, either in the spring, or early
in the autumn. Cold injures them less, however, at this season
than im spring.

A large flock of black and white creepers running about the
apple-trees, up and down, and around the trunk and branches ;
they are pretty, amusing little creatures, like all birds of that
habit.

Monday, 25th—Showery again. The woods are still green,
but some trees in the village are beginning to look autumn-like.
And yet we have had no frost of any consequence. Though an

active agent in effecting the beautiful autumnal changes in the fo-

AUTUMNUL TOUCHES. 305

liage, frost does not seem indispensable ; one finds that the leaves
turn at a certain time, whether we have had frost or not. The
single trees, or groves, and the borders of a wood, seem to be
touched first, while the forest generally still preserves its ver-
dure. The Virginia creepers, whether. trained upon our walls,
hanging about the trees in the woods, or tangling the thickets on
the banks of the river, are always the first to show their light,
vivid crimson, among the green of the other foliage. A maple
here and there generally keeps them company, in scarlet and yel-
low.

The pines are thickly hung with dark-brown cones, drooping
from their higher branches. This is also the moment when their
old leaves fall, and there is more yellow among their foliage this
autumn than usual, probably owing to the dry weather we have
had. Near at hand, these rusty leaves impair their beauty, but
at a little distance, they are not observed. The hemlocks effect
the change in their foliage imperceptibly, at least they seldom at-
tract attention by it; nor do their fallen leaves le in rusty, bar-
ren patches on the earth, beneath the trees, like those of the pine.

Saw a pretty sight: a party of robins alighted on the topmost
boughs of a group of young locusts near the house, and sipped
up the rain-drops gathered on the leaves; it was pretty to see
them drinking the delicate drops, one after another. Smaller
birds jomed them—sparrows, probably, and drank also. Birds
often drink in this way, but one seldom sees a whole flock sipping
at the same time. It is said that the fine pinnated grouse, now
becoming a very rare bird in this State, drinks only in this way,
refusing water from a vessel, or a spring, but eagerly drinking

when it trickles down in drops.

306 RURAL HOURS.

Tuesday, 26th.—A fine bunch of woodcock, with several par-
tridges, and a brace of wood-ducks, brought to the house. The
woodcock is less common here than the partridge, or the ruffed
grouse rather, as we should call it ; but all our game-birds are rapid-
ly diminishmg in numbers. By the laws of the State every county
is enabled to protect its own property of this kind, by including
any wild animal, or bird, or fish within the list of those which can
only be destroyed at certain seasons; the county courts deciding
the question in each case. Hitherto more attention has been paid
to the preservation of game on Long Island than in any other
part of this State ; and although so near New York, although the
laws are very imperfectly administered im these, as in some other
respects, yet the efforts of the Long Islanders have succeeded in
a degree at least. The deer, for mstance, are said to be actu-
ally increasing there, and until lately they have preserved more
game-birds than m most other counties ; they still have, or had
quite lately, a few of the fine pinnated grouse. In this county
very little attention has been paid to this subject, and probably
everything of the kind will soon disappear from our woods.
The reckless extermination of the game in the United States
would seem, indeed, without a precedent in the history of the
world. Probably the buffaloes will be entirely swept from prairies,
once covered with their herds, by this generation.*

The wood-ducks brought in this morning were both drakes,
but young, and consequently they had not acquired their beauti-

ful plumage. We had one for dinner; it was very delicate; a

* In West Chester County, they have recently had the good sense to extend
the protection of the game laws to many birds of the smaller kinds, useful to the

gardener and farmer, suchas the robins, which destroy many troublesome insects

THE WOOD-DUCK. 307

eanvas-back could scarcely have been more so. These ducks
are summer visitors to our lake. Unlike others of their family,
they build nests in trees. They are said to be one of the two
most beautiful species in the world, the other bemg the Mandarin
Duck of China. Ours are chiefly confined to the fresh waters of
the interior, bemg seldom found on the sea-shore. They are said
frequently to build in the same tree for several seasons. Mr.
Wilson gives a pleasing account of a nest he had seen on the
banks of the Tuckahoe River, New Jersey :—“<'The tree was an
old grotesque white oak, whose top had been torn off by a storm.
In this hollow and broken top, and about six feet down, on the
soft, decayed wood, lay thirteen eggs, snugly covered with down,
doubtless taken from the breast of the bird. The eggs were of
the highest polish, fine in the grain, greatly resembling old pol-
ished ivory. This tree had been occupied, probably by the same
pair, for four successive years in breeding-time; the person who
gave me the information, and whose house was within twenty or
thirty yards of the tree, said that he had seen the female, the
spring preceding, carry down thirteen young, one by one, in less
than ten minutes. She caught them in her bill by the wing, or
the back of the neck, and landed them safely at the foot of the
tree, when she afterward led them to the water. Under this
same tree, at the time I visited it, a large sloop lay on the stocks,
nearly finished ; the deck was not more than twelve feet distant
from the nest, yet notwithstanding the presence and the noise of
the workmen, the ducks would not abandon their old breeding-
place, but continued to pass out and in, as if no person had been

near. ‘The male usually perched on an adjoining limb, and kept

watch while the female was laying, and also often while she was

308 RURAL HOURS.

sitting. A tame goose had chosen a hollow space at the root of
the same tree, to lay and hatch her young in.”

The feathers of these beautiful birds are said to be frequently
used by the Indians to ornament their calumet, or Pipe of Peace ;
the head and neck of the wood-duck are frequently seen covering
the stem of the pipe.

Owing to the richness of its plumage, Linnzeus gave this bird the
name of the Bridal Duck, Anas Sponsa, and it is smgular that the
bird which approaches nearest to ours, the Mandarin Duck of
China, figures regularly in the marriage procession of the Chinese ;
not, however, from its beauty, but as an emblem of conjugal
fidelity, for which good quality they are remarkable. A story is
told of a female in the aviary of a European gentleman at Macao,
who all but starved herself to death when her husband was car-
ried off, and would probably have died had he not been found
and restored to her. The joy of both at meeting was extreme,
and the husband celebrated his return by putting to death a rival
drake who had been trying, but in vain, to console his mourning
partner. We have never heard whether our own birds are re-
markable for the same good quality or not, but their returning to
the same nest for years, looks, at least, as if they mated for life.

Wednesday, 27th.—Decided white frost last night. The trees
show it perceptibly in a heightened tint of coloring, rismg here
and there; some single maples in the village streets are vividly
crimson. But the general tint is still green.

Many birds flymg about mm parties. Some of the goldfinches
still wear their summer colors, yellow and black. Walking in
the lane, we came upon a large mixed flock, feeding on the

thistles and silkweed of an adjoming field which is overrun with

ce A

af

_

these weeds. There were goldfinches, blue-birds, sparrows,
robins ; and perched in a tree, at no great distance, were several
meadow-larks apparently attracted by the crowd, for they sat |
quietly looking on. Altogether there must have been several
hundreds in the flock, for there were frequently six or eight
hanging upon one thistle-stalk. Some were feeding busily ; others
were flitting about, now on the fences, now in the road. It
was a gay, pretty sight. We disturbed them, of course, passing
in their midst; but they did not seem much alarmed. Taking
flight, as we came close upon them, they alighted again on the |
rails and weeds, a few yards beyond, repeating over and over |
the same movement as we walked slowly on, until more than
half the flock had actually accompanied us in this way a good
piece of road, called near a quarter of a mile. They seemed
half convinced that we meant no Thera to them. As we reached
the end of the lane and turned into the highway, some went back |
to their feast; others, as it was near sunset, flew away in parties.

The numbers of these autumn flocks vary very much with the
seasons ; some years they are much more numerous than others.
After a cold, late spring, we have comparatively few. Many
birds at such times, probably, stop short on their spring journey,

remaining farther south; and others, alas! are destroyed by a |

severe untimely frost. Not long since, early in the season, a
large party of blue-birds arrived in the village. We watched them
with much interest; their brilliant plumage of silvery blue show-
ing beautifully as they flitted about in the sunshine; and added to
their gentle, harmless character and pleasant note, this makes them

very desirable birds to have about a house and on a lawn. We |

observed no less than three pairs building under the eaves, at the

310 RURAL HOURS.

time referred to, passing up and down before the windows twenty
times a day, and several others were gomg in and out of holes
and chinks of the trees in sight. One night there came a hard
frost, followed by a fall of snow ; the next day six of these pretty
blue-birds were picked up dead in one cluster in our own garden,
and several others were said to be lying about the grounds. They
seemed to have collected together to warm themselves. That
summer we saw very few blue-birds, and the following autumn
there was scarcely a large flock of them seen in the neighbor-
hood.

Fine sunset; the evening still and quiet. The lake beautiful
in its reflections of the sky. Soft barred clouds were floating
above the hills, and the color of each lay faithfully repeated on
the water ;—pink, violet, gray, and blue in successive fields.

Thursday, 28th.—In our walk, this afternoon, observed a
broad field upon a hill-side covered with the white silvery heads
of the everlastings. The country people sometimes call these
plants “moonshine,” and really the effect in the evening upon so
broad a field reminded one of moonlight. These flowers deserve
the name of “everlasting ;” some of them begin to bloom early
in the spring, and they continue in blossom until the latest days
of autumn. ‘They are extremely common here; one of our char-
acteristic plants.

A noisy flock of blue-jays collected in the wood behind us as

we were standing on Mount They were hunting for nuts,
and chattering like monkeys. Their cry is anything but musical,
but they are certainly very handsome birds. There is another

sometimes seen in this State; it is

kind of jay—the Canada jay
not so fine a bird as the common sort. These birds are said to

$3,

of W™ Endecoté & C°.

Lith.

MN

“

LANE;

Li

2
hee

G

~ en)
Hi! SBP et: Sap
ell ’

THE COUNTY FAIR. 311

eat all sorts of things; just now they are frequently mischievous
in the maize-fields. They are good mimics, when trained, and a
little given to thieving, like the magpie. We do not quarrel with
them, however, for they are one of the few birds that pass the
winter in our woods: at least, some of their flocks remain here,
though others probably go off toward the coast.

Friday, 29th.—Great change in the weather. Chilly, pinching
day. The county fair of the Agricultural Society is now going
on in the village, which is thronged with wagons and chilly-
looking people. Three or four thousand persons, men, women, and
children, sometimes attend these fairs ; to-day the village is thought
more crowded than it has been any time this year; neither the
circus, nor menagerie, nor election, has collected so many people
as the Fair.

The cattle-show is said to be respectable ; the ploughing match
and speech were also pronounced creditable to the occasion.
Within doors there is the usual exhibition of farm produce and
manufactures. The first department consists of butter, cheese,
maple sugar, honey, a noble pumpkin, about five feet m circum-
ference ; some very fine potatoes, of the Carter and pink-eye va-
rieties, looking as though there were no potato-disease in the
world; some carrots and turnips also. Apples were the only
fruit exhihited. Some of the butter and cheese was pronounced
very good; and both the maple sugar and honey were excellent.
Altogether, however, this part of the show was meagre ; assuredly
we might do much more than has yet been done in this county,
with our vegetables and fruits, And a little more attention to the

arrangement of the few objects of this kind exhibited at the Fair,

is desirable; people take great pains in arranging a room for a

RURAL HOURS.

ied)
bo

public ball or dimner ; but an exhibition of this kind is of far more
real interest and importance than any meeting for mere amuse-
ment. These agricultural fairs are among the most pleasing as
well as most important gathermgs we country people know of.
The cattle and the domestic manufactures form much the most
important features in our fairs. The stock of this county is not
thought remarkable, I believe, either one way or the other; but
some prizes from the State Society have been distributed among
us. Our domestic manufactures, however, are really very inter-
esting, and highly creditable to the housewives of the county.
Some of the flannels and carpeting are of excellent quality. <A
very short time since, before imported carpets were reduced as
low in price as they are to-day, a large amount of carpeting was
made by families in the inland counties, and some of the best
houses were carpeted throughout with domestic manufactures,
the wool being raised on the farm, and spun, dyed, and woven in
the house, or in the immediate neighborhood. At this moment
many such carpets are found in our county, and are probably
thought imported by those who are not aware how much work of
the kind is done among our rural population. Some are made on
the Venetian patterns, like stair carpeting, but others are imitations
of ingrain. There is still another kind of carpeting, more hum-
ble in quality, much used in the country, rag carpeting, some of
which may be seen in every farm-house, and common in the vil-
lages also ; strips of cotton, woollen, or lmen are cut, sewed to-
gether, and dyed of different colors, when they are woven with a
warp of tow, in Venetian patterns. Some of these are very pret-
ty and neat. One of the best and largest country inns in the in-

terior of this State is almost wholly carpeted in this way. In

ie

THE COUNTY FAIR. 313

Europe these rag carpets are not seen, at least not on the common
track of travellers, and possibly they are an invention of our great-
grandmothers after they had crossed the ocean. Or it may be —
that they are found in English farm-houses off the common route.

Besides excellent flannels and carpeting, we saw very good
shawls, stamped table-covers, blankets, shirting and sheeting,
towelling and table linen ; leather and morocco ; woollen stockings,
mittens, gloves, and socks ; very neat shoes and boots, on Paris
patterns ; embroidery, and fancy work of several kinds ; some very
good broadcloth; pretty plaid and striped woollen materials, for
dresses ; handsome bed-quilts, of unusually pretty patterns, and
well quilted, &c., &e. Altogether this was the most creditable
part of the in-door exhibition. Every one must feel an interest
in these fairs ; and it is to be hoped they will become more and
more a source of improvement and advantage in everything con-
nected with farming, gardening, dairy-work, manufacturing, me-
chanical, and household labors.

The butter and cheese of this county ought to be of the very
highest quality. That of our best dairies already commands a high
price in the large towns; but with plenty of grass, good spring
water in abundance, and a comparatively cool summer climate,
there ought not to be a pound of bad butter to be found here.
Unfortunately, a great deal of a very mdifferent kind is made
and eaten; and yet bad butter is almost as injurious to health
as bad air, of which we hear so much now-a-days. At the tav-
erns it is seldom that one meets with tolerable butter.

Saturday, 30th.—Milder again. There are still many grass-

hoppers thronging the fields and road-sides of warm days. The
14

RURAL HOURS.

turkeys, however, make great havoc among them; these birds
fatten very much on the grasshoppers of September.

Monday, October 2d.—Soft, half-cloudy day; something of
spring in the atmosphere. The woods also are spring-like in their
appearance to-day : many trees are just on the verge of turning,
colored in light, delicate greens of every tint; the effect is very
beautiful, and strangely like May. But here and there, amid these
pleasing varieties of verdure, we find a brilliant flash of scarlet or
crimson, reminding us that we are near the close of the year, un-
der the influence of bright autumn, and not of gentle spring.

Drive and walk. Sat upon the cliffs enjoying the view. The
day was perfectly still, the lake calm and placid, the reflection of
its banks more than usually lovely in its clearness and accuracy ;
the changing woods, each brilliant tree, the hills, farms, and build-
ings were all repeated with wonderful fidelity, and all the sweet-
ness of the natural landscape.

Gathered quite a pretty bunch of flowers; asters, everlastings,
golden-rods, bird-bell, innocence, pink and yellow fumitory, and a
bunch of white blackberry flowers, blooming out of season.
Found some of the fruit, also, quite eatable still; a rose-berry
also, here and there. Some of the leaves of these bushes, the
rose-raspberry, are very large, among the largest leaves we have ;
measured one this morning of unusual size, twelve inches and a
half in breadth. ‘The bush grew in a moist, shady spot.

Many butterflies sailing over the fields. The yellow butterflies
are the earliest to come, and the last to leave us; they seem more
social in their habits than most of their kind, for you generally see

them in parties, often in the meadows, often on the highways.

a —————————— — — — ——————————eeeeee

MULLEIN-SEED. 315

Not long since we saw a troop of these little creatures, a dozen or
more, fluttering over a muddy spot in the road, as they often do,—
whether to drink or not, I do not know; there was a cottage and
a blacksmith-shop close at hand, and a pretty white kitten had
strayed out to sun herself. As we came to the spot puss was in
the midst of the butterflies at quiet, gentle play with them; they
did not seem to mind her good-natured taps at all, avoiding them
by flitting about, but without any signs of alarm, still hovering
over the same spot; we watched them a moment, and then, fear-
ful that puss might wound some of her little play-fellows, we took
her up and set her on the fence.

Heard a cat-bird and jays in the woods. Heard a gun also,
boding mischief to partridges or pigeons.

Sat down to look at the water, and a bit of pebbly shore, many
feet below. Counted the flowers of a tall mullein spike, which
measured thirty-three inches in length; it bore five hundred and
seventy flowers, or rather seed-vessels, for it was out of blossom ;
each of these seed-vessels was filled with tiny dark seed, proba-
bly by the hundred, for I had not the time or patience to count
these. No wonder that mulleins are common ; they must yield fruit
ten thousand-fold! The birds do not seem to like their seed;
they are not seen feeding on the mullem stalks, as we see them
on the thistles every day.

Wednesday, 3d.—Pleasant. The varied greens of yesterday
are already gone; light, delicate yellows prevail to-day, and the
groves remind us of what we read of the golden gardens of the
Incas, in the vale of Cuzco. Scarlet and crimson are increasing
also; it seems singular, but the sumachs, which a few days since

were a dark reddish purple, are now taking a bright scarlet, a

316 ; RURAL HOURS.

much lighter tint, while the usual progress with the coloring of
the foliage is from light to dark. The Virginia creeper is vivid
cherry color, as usual, and its leaves are already dropping; they
are always the first to fall. The birches are yellow, more so than
usual ; the elms also; the lime-trees deep orange. The aspens
are quite green still, as well as the Lombardy poplars, and the
willows.

They are digging the potatoes; the crop is not a bad one in
this neighborhood ; some of the Carters, especially, are very fine,
large and mealy ; and there is generally but little of the decay
yet. Some of the farmers expect to lose only a fourth of the
crop, others more, some few even less. But the disease often
shows itself after the potatoes are in the cellar.

Wednesday, 4th.—Sky soft, but cloudy. How rapid are the
changes in the foliage at this season! One can almost see the
colors growing brighter. The yellows are more decided, the
scarlet and crimson spreading farther, with a pink flush rising on
many trees where yellow prevails, especially among the maples.
Still there is a clear vein of green perceptible; not the verdure
of the pine and hemlock, but the lighter greens of the aspens and
beeches, with some oaks and chestnuts not yet touched. Indeed,
the woods are very beautiful to-day ; the general effect is charm-
ing, while here and there we note a scarlet maple, a golden birch,
so brilliantly vivid that we are really amazed at the richness and
beauty of their coloring. 7

The children are out nutting ; it is the chestnuts which are the
chief attraction with them—they are very common here. A
merry group of boys and girls were chatting away in the “ Chest-

nut Grove” this afternoon, as we passed. Black walnuts are not

NUT-TREES. 317

so frequent, and the butternuts in this immediate neighborhood
are rare; in some parts of the county they abound. Beech-nuts
are plenty. Hazel-nuts are rare, and our hickory-nuts are not as
good as “ Thiskytoms” should be. Still, all things with kernels are
“nuts” to boys, and the young rogues make furious attacks upon
all the chestnut, walnut, and hickory trees in the neighborhood ;
they have already stripped the walnut-trees about the village of
all their leaves; these are disposed to fall early, but the boys
beat the branches so unmercifully that they become quite bare as
soon as the fruit is ripe.

A large party of pretty little wrens were feeding on the haws
of an old thorn-tree by the road-side. Perhaps they were winter
wrens, which are found in this State, and remain here through
the year. We do not remember, however, to have ever seen a
wren in this county, during our coldest months.

Thursday, 5th.—The woods are very fine, under the cloudy
sky, to-day. Scarlet, crimson, pmk, and dark red increasing
rapidly—gaining upon the yellows. So much the better ; seasons
where yellow prevails are far from being our finest autumns. The
more crimson and scarlet we have to blend with the orange and
straw colors, the gayer we are. Still, this seems rather a yellow
year; for the elms and hickories—which often wither and turn
brown, without much beauty—are very handsome just now, in
clear shades of yellow, fluttering in the breeze like gold-leaf;
while the chestnuts, birches, wych-hazel, and many maples, as
usual, wear the same colors. Although there are certain general
rules regarding the coloring of the trees, still they vary with

different seasons ; some which were red last year may be yellow

318 RURAL HOURS.

this autumn, and others which were dull russet may be bright
gold color. The other day we found a wood-path strewed, at one
spot, with pink aspen-leaves ; but the general color of this tree is
a decided yellow, nor do I ever remember to have seen its foliage
pink before this instance ; still there was no mistake about the
matter, the leaves belonged to the large aspen, and they were
clearly pink. They looked, however, as if they had first turned
yellow, and then a coat of rich warm lake had been laid on after-
ward. Maples frequently go through the same process.

Some of the oaks are turning deep red, others scarlet. The
ashes are already dark purple. But while most of the foliage is
gaining in brilliancy, bare limbs are already seen here and there ;
the Virginia creepers are all but leafless, so are the black walnuts ;
and the balm of Gilead poplar is losing its large leaves. Such is
Autumn: prodigal in her magnificence, scattering largesse with a
liberal hand, she is yet careless, and regardless of finish in the
lesser details ; she flings cloth of gold over the old chestnut, and
Tyrian purple upon the oak; while the neighboring grape-vine
hangs a dull and blighted garland of russet upon the forgotten
aspen, still green. Spring has a dainty hand, a delicate pencil ;
no single tree, shrub, plant, or weed, is left untouched by her ;
but Autumn delights rather in the breadth and grandeur of her
labors, she is careless of details. Spring works lovingly—Autumn,
proudly, magnificently.

Friday, 6th.—Beautiful day. House-cleaning going on in the
village ; happily, the labors of the task at this season are less
tremendous and overwhelming than in spring; it is a matter of

two or three days, instead of weeks.

AUTUMNAL CHANGES. 319

The woods are brilliant in the sunshine. There is still a vein
of green, however, running through the forest, independently of
the pines and firs.

In our stroll this evening we saw several flocks of birds, water-
fowl and other smaller birds, moving steadily to the southward.
These flocks give much interest to the autumn sky ; they are often
seen now, but are not common at other seasons—unless, indeed,
it be in picture-books, where every landscape is provided with a
nondescript flock of its own, quite asa matter of course. Through
the spring and summer, the birds live with us, in our own atmo-
sphere, among our own groves and plants, every-day companions ;
but at this season they soar above us, and we look up at the little
creatures with a sort of respect, as we behold the wonderful
powers with which they are endowed, sailing in the heavens, over
hill and dale, flood and town, toward lands which we may never
hope to see.

Saturday, T7th—Charming weather. The woods on the hills
are glorious in the sunshine, the golden light playing about their
leafy crests, as though it took pleasure in kindling such rich color-
ing. The red of the oaks grows deeper, the chestnuts are of a
brighter gold color. Still a touch of green in the woods; the
foliage of the beech struggles a long time to preserve its verdure,
the brownish yellow creeps over it very slowly; most trees turn
more rapidly, as though they took pleasure in the change.

Butterflies fluttering about in the sunshine; dragon-flies also,
“la demoiselle dorce,” as the French call them—strange, that
what is a young lady in France should become a dragon across
the Channel! Many grasshoppers by the road-sides. Small gnat-
like flies abound, in flocks,

320 RURAL HOURS.

“< borne aloft,

Or sinking, as the light wind lives or dies.”

Beautiful moonlight this evening, with a decided frosty feeling
in the air. The moon was determined to show us what she could
do toward lighting up the autumn foliage at night ; the effect was
singular, as seen in the trees about the lawn. A dreamy fugitive
coloring of scarlet and yellow seemed to be thrown over the
sumachs and maples, near the house ; and even upon the hills, in
spots where the light fell with all its power, the difference between
the colored belts of yellow or scarlet, and the darker evergreens,
was quite perceptible.

Monday, 9th—As the sun rose the lake lay buried in mist,
which gradually rolled away, with sea-like glimpses of the water.
The leaves of the locusts are shrivelled by the frost, and dropping
rapidly and silently from the branches ; several trees on the lawn
will be all but bare to-night. The foliage always falls as much
after a sharp frost as from the effect of a high wind; such morn-
ings as this the leaves drop calmly and silently to the earth, but
the stormy winds tear them angrily from the trees, and drive them
wildly from grove to grove, from field to field, ere they rest
beneath their shroud of snow.

The air is quite sharp this morning, and the birds come flutter-
ing about the windows, as though it were more chilly than they
liked out of doors; we saw several robins, sparrows, and gold-
finches about the windows in different parts of the house. One
goldfinch, in full color, flew against the glass pane. One would
gladly open to the little creatures, but if we approach the window
they are frightened, and fly off again; it is a pity we cannot

make them understand they would be very welcome to warm

LEAVE-TAKING OF THE BIRDS. 391
themselves and then fly away at will. Probably they take the
house for a respectable sort of cave, where they mean to shelter
themselves from the frosty air a while ; but as they never come until
toward the last of the season, it looks very much as if they wished
to say good-bye, and inquire if we have any messages for our
friends in Carolina.

A handsome Antiopa butterfly, brown and buff, also came
fluttermg about a window of the second story several times in
the course of the morning, coming and going, as if anxious to find
its way in. At last we opened the window, but it was frightened
by the noise, and fluttered away. These large and handsome
butterflies are longer-lived than many of their companions ; they
outlive the winter, by clinging to the rafters of barns and out-
buildings, or concealing themselves in sheltered crevices of walls,
where they remain in a torpid state until the mild weather in
spring, when they come out again, and may occasionally be seen
flitting about among the leafless and flowerless shrubs of March
and April.

Tucsday, 10th.—Mild. Showery morning, bright afternoon.
Pleasant walk on the lake-road. The pines are clear green again,
having sast their rusty leaves. A few cones also are dropping,
but many hang on the trees through the winter.

A few years since, those who followed this road, along the lake
shore, frequently met an old man, coming and going in this direc-
tion, whose venerable appearance would probably have attracted
a stranger’s attention. His head was white with the honors of
fourscore and upward, yet his tall, slender figure was erect
and active, showing few marks of age; and his face was remark-

able for a kindly, benevolent expression, a bright, healthy eye, and
14%

399 RURAL) HOURS.

ruddy complexion. This old man led a singular life, partaking
of the retirement and simplicity of that of a hermit, with the
active benevolence of a different class of men. With children
living in the village, and calling the house of a daughter his home,
he loved the quiet solitude of the fields ; and, unwilling to be idle,
so long as he had strength to work, the goed old man applied to
the owner of the land in this direction for a spot to till; his
request was complied with, and he chose a little patch within a
short walk of the village. Early in the morning, before sunrise,
he would go out into the woods, frequently remaining out the
whole day, only bending his steps homeward toward evening.
Often he might be seen at work with his spade or his hoe, about
the little field which he was the first man to till; he made a fence
of the decayed logs lymg about, collected the rubbish and brush-
wood and burned it, then ploughed, and planted maize and
potatoes. Often, when missed from his field, he has been found
sitting among the bushes reading his Bible or his hymn-book,
or kneeling in prayer. On the hill-side, at no great distance from
his little clearing, there is a shallow cave, well known in the neigh-
borhood, and many a summer morning, before the village bell
has rung for sunrise, the good old man has been kneeling there,
in earnest prayer for the people of the sleepmg town at his feet.
Much of his time was passed in prayer, in reading the Holy
Scriptures, and singing pious hymns, with his pleasant old voice.
He always had a smiling, friendly greeting for his acquaintances,
and expressed a very warm interest in the children and erand-
children of those he had known in earlier days; he never met a
young person of his acquaintance without some solemn words of

good advice, and a blessing, given with earnest sincerity. Occa-

A VETERAN. 323

sionally he would visit his different friends in the village, and
although his object was generally of a charitable or religious
nature, yet he loved to talk of past times with those whose memo-
ries went back to the first years of the little colony. He had been
a miller by trade, and came into the county at an early day, and
of course knew much of the history of this rural community.
But he had also other recollections of a more ambitious nature ;
for he had begun life asa soldier, during the troubles of the Revo-

>

lution, having belonged to the “Jersey line ;” and it was with
some latent pride that he would relate how he had, more than
once, stood sentinel before the tent of General Washington, and

bf

seen “His Excellency” go in and out. His recollection of the
battle of Long Island, and the celebrated retreat across the East
River, was particularly good ; his old cheek would flush, and his
mild eye grow brighter, as he told the incidents of that day and
night; while the listener must needs smile to see the young
soldier thus getting the better of the peaceful old solitary. His
activity was unusual for such advanced years: a great walker, he
never used horse or wagon if he could help it; and at the age of
eighty-two he walked forty miles in one day, to visit a friend in
the next county. He ate only the simplest food, and never drank
anything but water, or a bowl of milk now and then; and this
temperance, added to regular exercise and light labor in the fields,
with a mind at peace, were no doubt the cause of the good health
and activity he enjoyed so late in life. This excellent man was a
striking example of what the Holy Scriptures alone may do for
the honest, simple heart, who endeavors faithfully to carry out
the two great commandments—loving our Maker with all the

heart, and doing unto others as we would have others do to us.

3924 RURAL HOURS.

Full of simple piety and benevolence, temperate, frugal, and indus-
trious, single-minded, and upright m word and deed, his conduct
in all these respects was such as to command the respect and
veneration of those who knew him. It was like a blessing to meet
so good a man in one’s daily walks. Such an instance of honor-
able integrity and simple piety was a strong encouragement to
perseverance in duty, among the many examples of, a very oppo-

site character

examples of weakness, folly, and sm, which hourly
crossed one’s path.

Not long since, during the cold weather in winter, the village
heard with regret that their venerable old neighbor had fallen on
the ice, and broken a leg; from that time he has been compelled
to give up his field labors, having become quite infirm. Bowed
down with age and debility, his mind often wanders; but on
the subject nearest his heart, he is still himself. He may be seen
occasionally, of a pleasant day, sitting alone in the lane near his
daughter’s door, scarcely heeding what passes before him ; his
eyes closed, his hands clasped, and his lips moying in prayer. If
one stops to offer him a respectful greeting, he shakes his head,
acknowledging that memory fails him, but he still bestows a bless-
ing with his feeble voice and dim eye—‘‘ God bless you, my
friend, whoever you be!”

The little patch of ground enclosed by logs, just within the
edge of the wood, and the frequent turning-point in our walks,
was the good man’s clearing. It now lies waste and deserted.
A solitary sweet-briar has sprung up lately by the road-side, be-
fore the rude fence. This delightful shrub is well known to be a
stranger in the forest, never appearing until the soil has been

broken by the plough; and it seems to have sprung up just here

nn

AUTUMN. 325

expressly to mark the good man’s tillage. ‘Tall mullein-stalks,
thistles, and weeds fill the place where the old husbandman gath-
ered his little crop of maize and potatoes; every season the
traces of tillage become more and more faint in the little field; a
portion of the log fence has fallen, and this summer the fern has
gained rapidly upon the mulleins and thistles. The silent spirit
of the woods seems creeping over the spot again.

Wednesday, 11th.— Autumn would appear to have received gen-
erally a dull character from the poets of the Old World ; probably
if one could gather all the passages relating to the season, scat-
tered among the pages of these writers, a very large proportion
would be found of a grave nature. English verse is full of sad
images applied to the season, and often more particularly to the
foliage.

“ The chilling. autumn, angry winter,”
are linked together by Shakspeare.
* The sallow autumn fills thy laps with leaves,”

writes Collins.

**O pensive autumn, how I grieve
Thy. sorrowing face to see,
When languid suns are taking leave
Of every drooping treé !”

says Shenstone.
°° Ye trees that fade when autumn heats remove,”’
says Pope.

«* Autumn, melancholy wight !”

exclaims Wordsworth. And hundreds of similar lines might be

— ————— a rane
= ——————

326 RURAL HOURS.

given; for very many of the English poets seem to have felt a
November chill at their fingers’ ends when alluding to the
subject.

The writers of France tell much the same tale of Autumn,
across the Channel.

‘* Plus pale, que la pale automne,”

says Millevoye, in his touching lament.

“la pale Automne
D’une main languissante, effeuillant sa couronne,”
&)

writes Delille ; and again,

** Dirai-je a quels désastres,
De lAutomne orageux nous exposent les astres ?”

And again,

** Voyez comment lAutomne nébuleux

Tous les ans, pour gémir, nous ameéne en ces lieux.”’

St. Lambert tells us of fogs and mists, in his sing-song verses, his

“ormeaux, et rameaux, et hameaux.”

“* Ces voiles suspendus qui cachent a la terre
Le ciel qui la couronne, et Vastre qui l’éclaire
Préparent les mortels au retour des frimas.
Mais la feuille en tombant, du pampre dépouillé
Decouvre le raisin, de rubis émaillé.”

Observe that he was the especial poet of the seasons, and bound
to fidelity in their behalf; and yet, painting Autumn during the
vintage, he already covers the sky with clouds, and talks of
“frimas.””

AUTUMN. 327

s¢ Salut, bois couronnés d’en reste de verdure

Feuillage, jaunissant sur les gazons épars,”’

writes M. de Lamartine, in his beautiful’ but plaintive verses to
the season.

In Germany we shall find much the same tone prevailing.
“*Tn des Herbstes welkem Kranze,”’
says Schiller; and again,

‘¢ Wenn der Friihlings Kinder sterben,
Wenn vom Norde’s kaltem Hauch
Blatt und Blume sich entfarben—’’

As for the noble poets of Italy, summer makes up half their
year ; the character of autumn is less decided; she is scarcely
remembered until the last days of her reign, and then she would
hardly be included among “i mesi gai.”

In short, while gay imagery has been lavished upon Spring and
Summer, Autumn has more frequently received a sort of feuclle
morte drapery, by way of contrast. Among the older poets, by
which are meant all who wrote previously to the last hundred years,
these grave touches, in connection with autumn, are particularly
common; and instances of an opposite character are compara-
tively seldom met with.

There were exceptions, however. Such glowing poets as
Spenser and Thomson threw a warmer tint into their pictures of
the season. But, strange to say, while paying her this compli-
ment, they became untrue to nature—they robbed Summer to
deck Autumn in her spoils. They both—British poets, as they

were—put off the grain-harvest until September, when in truth the

wheat-sheaf belongs especially to August, in England; that month

= = —— = a

828 RURAL HOURS.

is given up to its labors, and it is only the very last sheaves which

are gathered in September. Yet hear what Spenser says :

** Then came the Automne, all in yellow clad,
As though she joyed in her plenteous store,
Laden with fruit that made her laugh full glad ;
Upon her head a wreath, which was enrolde
With eares of corne of every sort, she bore,
And in her hand a sickle she did holde,
To reap the ripened fruits the earth did yolde.”

The cars of.corn, and the sickle, were certainly the rightful
property of Summer, who had already been spending weeks in
the harvest-field.

Thomson first mtroduces the season in very much the same
livery as Spenser, as we may all remember :

**Crown’d with the sickle, and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o’er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on ;

broad and brown, below,

Extensive harvests hang the heavy head :—”’

In classic days Spring was seen crowned with flowers ; Summer
with grain; Autumn with fruits; and Winter with reeds. All
the four seasons, the Anni of Roman mythology, took a mascu-
line form. ‘Traces of this may be found in the gender given to
the different seasons, grammatically speaking, in the principal
modern tongues of Europe, for they are chiefly masculine. In
Italian, spring, la primavera, is feminine ; Vestate, Vautumno, Vin-
verno, are masculine ; in verse, 2d verno is occasionally used for
winter; and the gender of summer is sometimes changed to a
feminine substantive, da state. In German, der Friihling, der

Sommer, der Winter, der Herbst, are all masculine, and so is the

wa

AUTUMN. 7 329

more poetical word, der Lenz, for spring; but the Germans,
as we all know, have peculiar notions on the subject of gen-
der, for they have made the sun feminine, and the moon
masculine. ‘The Spaniards have adopted the same words as
the Italians, with the same genders—la primavera, el verano
or el estio, el otono, el inveerno, spring alone being feminine.
In French, we have them all masculine, strictly speaking, le prin-
temps, Pete, Vautomne, Vhiver ; but by one of the very few licenses
permitted in French grammar, autumn occasionally becomes femi-
nine, ina sense half poctical, half euphonical. Strictly speaking, we
are taught that, with an adjective preceding it, autumn, in French,

is always masculine.

** Ou quand sur les céteaux le vigoureux Automne

Etalait ses raisins dont Bacchus se couronne 3”
while with the adjective coming after, it is feminine: “une
automne délicieuse,” says Madame de Sevigné. But this rule is
often neglected in verse, by the same writers who are quoted as
authority for it, as we have seen in “la pale automne”’ of Delile ;
the feeling and tact of the individual seem to decide the question ;
and this is one of the very few instances in which such liberty is
allowed tothe French poet. As might be supposed, the variation
becomes a grace; and probably if something more of the same
freedom were generally diffused through the language, the poetry
of France would have more of that life and spirit which is now
chiefly confined to her greater writers in verse. In that case, we

should have had more than one Lafontaine to delight us.

In English, thanks to our neuter gender, poets are allowed to do
as they choose in this matter ; and in many cases they have chosen

to represent all three of the earlier seasons in a feminine form—

330 RURAL HOURS.

not only spring and summer, but autumn also—as we have just
seen in the case of Spenser. Thomson, however, has made Sum-

mer a youth, a sort of Apollo:

** Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes
He comes attended by the sultry hours,
And ever fanning breezes on his way.”
And his autumn also, “crowned with the sickle and the wheaten
sheaf,” scarcely looks like a female.

In climates still warmer than those of Greece and Rome, the
ears of grain might correctly have been woven into the wreath of
May. Ruth must have gleaned the fields of Boaz during the
month of May, or some time between the Passover and Pentecost—
festivals represented by our Easter and Whitsunday—for that was
the harvest-time of Judea.

Many of the poets of our mother-speech have, however, fol-
lowed the examples of Spenser and Thomson, in representing
autumn as the season of the grain-harvest in England. Among
others, Keats, who also gives a glowing picture of the season, in
those verses, full of poetical images, beginning—

‘¢ Season of mists, and mellow fruitfulness !

. Close bosom friend of the maturing sun.”

He then asks, ‘“‘ Who has not often seen thee

$e . sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ;
Or on a half-reaped furrow lain asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies ; while thy hook

Spares the next swathe, and all its twined flowers!’

But while such poets as Spenser and Thomson give a warmer

AUTUMN. 331

picture of the season than many of their contemporaries, on an-
other point, at which we are looking just now, they do not differ
from others—neither of them sees any beauty in the foliage of

the season. It is true, Thomson speaks, in one line, of

«* Autumn beaming o’er the yellow woods,”

but this seems an accidental epithet, for it does not occur in the
descriptive part of the season. When he is expressly engaged in
painting autumn for us, he tells us of the “tawny copse.” An-
other passage of his commences in a way which at first leads one
to expect some praise of the autumn foliage, for he speaks of the
“many-colored woods.” ‘To an American, this immediately sug-
gests the idea of scarlet and golden tints; but he proceeds in a

very different tone—his “many-colored woods” are all sad.

‘«¢ Shade deep’ning over shade, the country round
Imbrown: a clouded umbrage, dusk and dun,
Of ev’ry hue, from wan declining green
To sooty dark.”

Sober enough, in good sooth. And then he strips the trees amid

gloomy fogs and mists:

‘© And o’er the sky the leafy deluge streams ;
Till chok’d and matted with the dreary shower,
The forest walks at ev’ry rising gale
Roll wide the wither’d waste.”

It would require a general and accurate knowledge of English
verse, and a very correct memory, to say positively that no allu-
sion to the beauty of the autumnal woods may be found in the
older poets of England; but certainly, if such are to be met with,

they do not lie within the range of every-day readmg. Are there

332 . RURAL HOURS.
any such in Milton, skillful as he was in picturing the groves and
bowers of Eden ?

‘¢ Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In Vallambrosa,”’

will occur to the memory; but we have no coloring here. Is
there a single line of this nature in Shakspeare, among the innu-
merable comparisons in which his fancy luxuriated ? Shall we find
one in the glowing pages of Spenser? In Dryden? In Chaucer,
so minute in description, and delighting so heartily m nature—
from the humble daisy to the great oaks, with “their leaves
newe?” One is almost confident that in these, and every other
instance, the answer will prove a negative.

Much the boldest touch of the kind, remembered at present, in
European verse, is found in a great French rural writer, Delille ;
speaking of the woods in Autumn, he says:

*¢ Le pourpre, Vorangé, V’opale, l’incarnat,
De leurs rickes couleurs étalent ’abondance.”

But these lines stand almost alone, differing entirely from other
descriptions of the season by himself and many of his country-
men, with whom it has very generally been “la pale automme.”
Probably in these lines Delille had some particular season in
view. European autumn is not always dull; she has her bright
days, and at times a degree of beauty in her foliage. From the
more northern countries, as far south of Italy, one may occasion-
ally see something of this kind, reminding one of the season in
America. More than a hundred years since, Addison alluded
briefly, in his travels, to the beauty of the autumnal woods in

Southern Germany, where, indeed, the foliage is said to be finer

AUTUMN. 333

than in any other part of Europe ; but nowhere, I believe, has he
given the colored leaves a place in verse. Delille, it must be
remembered, was a more modern poet, writing at the close of the
last and the commencement of the present century ; and just
about that time allusions of this kind were finding their way into
the literature of Europe.

A very decided change in this respect has indeed taken place
within the last fifty or sixty years. English writers, particularly,
seem suddenly to have discovered Autumn under a new charac-
ter; two very different pictures are now given of her ; one is still

{??

« Autumn, melancholy wight!” while the other bears a much
gayer expression. Just now allusions to beautiful “autumnal
tints” have become very much the fashion in English books of all
sorts ; and one might think the leaves had been dyed, for the first
time, to please the present generation. In reality, there can hardly
have been any change in this respect since the days of Chaucer ;
whence, then, comes this altered tone ?

Some foundation for the change may doubtless be found in the
fact, that all descriptive writing, on natural objects, is now much
less vague and general than it was formerly ; it has become very
much more definite and accurate within the last half century.
Some persons have attributed this change, so far as it regards
England, to the taste for landscape painting, which has been so
generally cultivated in that country durmg the same period
Probably this has had its effect. The partiality for a more natural
style in gardening may also have done something toward bringing
the public mind round to a natural taste on all rural subjects. It
is seldom, however, that a great change in public taste or opinion is

produced by a single direct cause only ; there are generally many

334 RURAL HOURS.

lesser collateral causes working together, aiding and strengthening
each other meanwhile, ere decided results are produced. This is
perceptible in small matters, as well as in matters of importance.
Something more than a mere partiality for landscape painting has
been at work; people had grown tired of mere vapid, conventional
repetitions, they felt the want of something more positive, more
real; the head called for more of truth, the heart for more of life.
And so, writers began to look out of the window more frequently ;
when writing a pastoral they turned away from the little porcelain
shepherds and shepherdesses, standing in high-heeled shoes and
powdered wigs upon every mantel-piece, and they fixed their eyes
upon the real living Roger and Dolly in the hay-field. Then they
came to see that it would do just as well, nay, far better, to seat
Roger and Dolly under a hawthorn, or an oak of merry England,
than to paint them beneath a laurel, or an ilex of Greece or Rome ;
in short, they learned at length to look at nature by the light of the
sun, and not by the glimmerings of the poet’s lamp. And a great
step this wes, not only in art, but in moral and intellectual prog-

ress.* One of the first among the later English poets, who led

* Nore.—This onward course in truthful description should not stop short
at inanimate nature. There is a still further progress which remains to be effect-
ed ; the same care, the same attention, the same scruples should, most assuredly,
be shown by the conscientious mind, in writing of our fellow-creatures. If we
seek to give a correct picture of a landscape, a tree, a building, how much more
anxious should we be never willingly to give a distorted or perverted view of any
fellow-man, or class of men ; of any fact bearing upon the welfare of our fellow-
creatures, or of any class of facts with the same bearing! We claim, in this age,
to be more especially in quest of truths—how, then, shall we ever find them, if we
are all busy in throwing obstacles in each other’s way? Even in fiction, nay, in
satire, in caricature, there are just proportions which it is criminal wholly to
pervert. In such cases, political writers are often avowedly without shame 3 and,
alas! how often do Christian writers conform, in this way, to the world about
them! Perhaps there is no other commandment of Holy Scripture more boldly

AUTUMN. 335

the way back into the track of truth, was the simple, kindly, up-
right Cowper; and assuredly it was a task worthy of a Christian
poet—that of endeavoring to paint the works of the Creation in
their native dignity, rather than tricked out in conventional devices
of man.

Still, all this might have taken place without producing that
especial attention to autumn, perceptible in later English writers ;
that very frequent mention of its softer days and varied foliage,
which marks a change of feeling from the “chilling autumn” of
Shakspeare, and the foliage “dusk and dun” of Thomson. One
is led to believe that the American autumn has helped to set the
fashion for the sister season of the Old World; that the attention
which the season commands in this country, has opened the eyes
of Europeans to any similar graces of the same months in their
own climates; the gloom is less heeded by them, while every
pleasing touch is noted with gratification. In the same way, we
now see frequent allusions to the “ Indian summer” by Englishmen,
in their own island, where this last sweet smile of the declining
year was entirely unheeded until its very marked character in this
country had attracted admiration. Our native writers, as soon as
we had writers of our own, pointed out very early both the sweet-
ness of the Indian summer, and the magnificence of the autumnal
changes. In fact, they must have been dull and blind not to

have marked both these features of the season, as we usually

trampled on, in spirit at least, at the present day, than the ninth, ‘‘ Thou shalt
not bear false witness against thy neighbor.” It is to be feared that the present
age is more especially a slanderous one ; slanderous not only upon individuals,
but upon classes. Where shall we find the political party, the school of phi-
losophy, the religious sect or party, wholly pure from this poison? These are
among the facts which teach our race a lesson of perpetual humility.

33€ RURAL HOURS.

enjoy them. And here, indeed, we find the precise extent of the
difference between the relative beauty of autumn in Europe and

in America: with us it is quite impossible to overlook these pecu-

liar charms of the autumnal months ; while in Europe, though not

wholly wanting, they remained unnoticed, unobserved, for ages.
Had the same soft atmosphere of the “Indian summer” warmed
the woods of Windsor, year after year, while Geoffrey Chaucer
roamed among their glades, the English would have had a word
or a phrase to express the charm of such days, before they bor-
rowed one from another continent. Had the maples, and oaks,
and ashes, on the banks of the Avon, colored the waters of that
stream, year after year, with their own scarlet, and crimson, and
purple, while Will. Shakspeare, the bailiff’s son, was shooting his
arrows on its banks, we should have found many a rich and ex-
quisite image connected with autumnal hours hovering about the
footsteps of Lear and Hamlet, Miranda and Imogen, and Rosa-
lind. Had the woods of England been as rich as our own, their
branches would have been interwoven among the masques of Ben
Jonson and Milton; they would have had a place in more than
one of Spenser’s beautiful pictures. All these are wanting now.
Perhaps the void may be in a measure filled up for us by great
poets of our own; but even then one charm will fail—the mellow
light of eld, which illumines the page of the old poet, will be
missed ; for that, like the rich flavor of old wine, is the gift of
Time alone.

In the meanwhile, however, the march of Autumn through the
land is not a silent one—it is already accompanied by song.
Scarce a poet of any fame among us who has not at least some

graceful verse, some glowing image connected with the season ;

\

je

AUTUMN. 337

and year after year the song must become fuller, and sweeter, and
clearer.

In those parts of this contment which answer to the medium
climates of Europe, and where Autumn has a decided character
of her own, the season is indeed a noble one. Rich in bounty,
ripening the blended fruits of two hemispheres, beauty is also her
inalienable dower. Clear skies and cheerful breezes are more
frequent throughout her course than storms or clouds. Foes are
rare indeed. Mild, balmy airs seem to delight in attending her
steps, while the soft haze of the Indian summer is gathered like a
choice veil about her brows, throwing a charm of its own over
every feature. The grain-harvest has been given to Summer ; of
all its treasures, she preserves alone the fragrant buckwheat and
the golden maize. The nobler fruits are all hers—the finer
peaches and plums, the cheicest apples, pears, and grapes. The
homely, but precious root-harvest belongs to her—winter stores
for man and his herds. And now, when the year is drawing to a
close, when the blessings of the earth have been gathered and
stored, when every tree and plant has borne its fruits, when every
field has yielded its produce, why should the sun shine brightly
now? What has he more to ripen for us at this late day ?

At this very period, when the annual labors of the husbandman
are drawing to a close, when the first light frosts ripen the wild
grapes in the woods, and open the husks of the hickory-nuts,
bringing the latest fruits of the year to maturity, these are the
days when, here and there, in the groves you will find a maple-tree
whose leaves are touched with the gayest colors; those are the
heralds which announce the approach of a brilliant pageant—the

moment chosen by Autumn to keep the great harvest-home of

1d

338 RURAL HOURS.

America is at hand. In a few days comes another and a sharper
frost, and the whole face of the country is changed; we enjoy,
with wonder and delight, a natural spectacle, great and beautiful,
beyond the reach of any human means.

We are naturally accustomed to associate the idea of verdure
with foliage—leaves should surely be green! But now we gaze
in wonder as we behold colors so brilliant and so varied hung upon
every tree. Tints that you have admired among the darker tulips
and roses, the richer lilies and dahlias of the flower-garden—colors
that have pleased your eye among the fine silks and wools of a
lady’s delicate embroidery—dyes that the shopman shows off with
complacency among his Cashmeres and velvets—hues reserved by
the artist for his proudest works—these we now see fluttering in
the leaves of old oaks, and tupeloes, liquid ambers, chestnuts,
and maples !

We behold the green woods becoming one mass of rich and
varied coloring. It would seem as though Autumn, in honor of
this high holiday, had collected together all the past glories of
the year, adding them to her own; she borrows the gay colors
that have been lying during the summer months among the flow-
ers, in the fruits, upon the plumage of the bird, on the wings of
the butterfly, and working them together in broad and glowing
masses, she throws them over the forest to grace her triumph.
Like some great festival of an Italian city, where the people bring
rich tapestries and hang them in their streets; where they unlock
chests of heir-looms, and bring to light brilliant draperies, which
they suspend from their windows and balconies, to gleam in the
sunshine.

The hanging woods of a mountainous country are especially

a

AUTUMN. 839

beautiful at this season; the trees throwing out their branches,
one above another, in bright variety of coloring and outline, every
individual of the gay throng having a fancy of his own to humor.
The oak loves a deep, rich red, or a warm scarlet, though some
of his family are partial to yellow. The chestnuts are all of one
shadeless mass of gold-color, from the highest to the lowest
branch. The bass-wood, or linden, is orange. The aspen, with
its silvery stem and branches, flutters in a lighter shade, like the
wrought gold of the jeweller. The sumach, with its long, pinnated
leaf, is of a brilliant scariet. The pepperidge is almost purple,
and some of the ashes approach the same shade during certain sea-
sons. Other ashes, with the birches and beech, hickory and
elms, have their own tints of yellow. That beautiful and common
vine, the Virginia creeper, is a vivid cherry-color. ‘The sweet-gum
is vermilion. The Viburnum tribe and dog-woods are dyed in lake.
As for the maples, they always rank first among the show; there
is no other tree which contributes singly so much to the beauty
of the season, for it unites more of brilliancy, with more of variety,
than any of its companions ; with us it is also more common than
any other tree. Here you have a soft maple, vivid scarlet from
the highest to the lowest leaf; there js another, a sugar maple,
a pure sheet of gold; this is dark crimson like the oak, that is
vermilion ; another is parti-colored, pink and yellow, green and
red; yonder is one of a deep purplish hue; this is still green, that
is mottled in patches, another is shaded ; still another blends all

these colors on its own branches, in capricious confusion, the dif-

ferent limbs, the separate twigs, the single leaves, varying fromm
each other in distinct colors, and shaded tints. And in every

direction a repetition of this magnificent picture meets the eye: in

340 RURAL HOURS.

the woods that skirt the dimpled meadows, in the thickets and
copses of the fields, in the bushes which fringe the brook, im the
trees which line the streets and road-sides, in those of the lawns
and gardens—brilliant and vivid in the nearest groves, gradu-
ally lessening in tone upon the farther woods and successive
knolls, until, in the distant back-ground, the hills are colored by
a mingled confusion of tints, which defy the eye to seize them.

Among this brilliant display, there are usually some few trees
which fade, and wither, and dry into a homely brown, without
appearing to feel the general influence; the sycamores, the
locusts, for instance, and often the elms also, have little beauty to
attract the eye, seldom aiming at more than a tolerable yellow,
though at times they may be brighter.

Imported trees, transplanted originally from the Old World,
preserve, as a rule, the more sober habits of their ancestral woods ;
the Lombardy poplar and the weeping willow are only pale yel-
low; the apple and pear trees, and some of the garden shrubs,
lilacs, and syringas, and snow-balls, generally wither, without bril-
liancy, though once in a while they have a fancy for something
rather gayer than pale yellow or russet, and are just touched
with red or purple.

Other trees, again, from some accident of position or other
cause, will remain a clear green, weeks after their companions of
the same species are in full color.

But amid the general gayety, the few exceptions are scarcely
observed, unless they are pointed out, and the beautiful effect of
the great picture remains unbroken.

One observes also, that the spirit of the scene is carried out in

many lesser details, for which we are scarcely prepared. Walking

AUTUMN. 341

through the woods and fields, you find many of the smaller shrubs
very prettily colored, little annuals also, and the seedlings of the
forest-trees. The tiny maples especially, not longer than your
finger, with half a dozen little leaflets, are often as delicately
colored as blossoms, pink, and red, and yellow. Some of the
flowering plants, also, the sarsaparillas and May-stars, with their
finely-cut leaves, are frequently of a soft, clear straw-color. One
may make very handsome bunches of these bright leaves; a
branch of the golden chestnut, or aspen, or birch, a crimson twig
from a young oak, another of scarlet maple, a long, plume-like
leaf of the red sumach, with some of the lesser seedlings, and the
prettiest of the wood-plants, make up a bouquet which almost
rivals the dahlias in brilliancy.

Some persons occasionally complain that this period of the year,
this brilliant change in the foliage, causes melancholy feelings,
arousing sad and sorrowful ideas, like the flush on the hectic
cheek. But surely its more natural meaning is of a very different
import. Here is no sudden blight of youth and beauty, no sweet
hopes of life are blasted, no generous aim at usefulness and ad-
vancing virtue is cut short; the year is drawing to its natural
term, the seasons have run their usual course, all their blessings
have been enjoyed, all our precious things are cared for; there is
nothing of untimeliness, nothing of disappointment in these shorter
days and lessening heats of autumn. As well may we mourn over
the gorgeous coloring of the clouds, which collect to pay homage
to the setting sun, because they proclaim the close of day ; as
well may we lament the brilliancy of the evening star, and the

silvery brightness of the crescent moon, just ascending into the

342 RURAL HOURS.

heavens, because they declare the approach’ of night and her
shadowy train !

Mark the broad land glowing in a soft haze, every tree and
grove wearing its gorgeous autumnal drapery ; observe the vivid
freshness of the evergreen verdure; note amid the gold and
crimson woods, the blue lake, deeper in tint at this season than at
any other; see a more quiet vein of shading in the paler lawns and
pastures, and the dark-brown earth of the freshly-ploughed fields ;
raise your eyes to the cloudless sky above, filled with soft and
pearly tints, and then say, what has gloom to do with such a pic-
ture? Tell us, rather, where else on earth shall the human eye
behold coloring so magnificent and so varied, spread over a field
so vast, within one noble view? In very truth, the glory of these
last waning days of the season, proclaims a grandeur of beneficence
which should rather make our poor hearts swell with gratitude at
each return of the beautiful autumn accorded to us.

Thursday, 12th.—Rather cool this afternoon. As we were
walking to and fro, about twilight, a bat came flickering across
our path several times. lt was quite a small one, and perhaps
inexperienced in life, for most of his kind have already disappeared
—we have not seen one for some weeks. There are said to be
five different kinds of bats in this State, and we have a good share
here. One evening in the month of August, there were no less
than five of these creatures in the house at the same time; after
a prolonged fight, two of them were routed ; the other three kept
possession of the ground all night.

Friday, 13th.—Delightful day. Long walk in the woods.
Found a few asters and golden-rods, silver-rods, and everlastings,

scattered about. The flowers are becoming rare, and chary of

LAST FLOWERS. 343

their presence ; still, so long as the green grass grows, they lie
scattered about, one here, another there, it may be in the shady
woods, or it may be in the flower-border ; reminding one of those
precious things which sweeten the field of life—kindly feelings,
holy thoughts, and just deeds—which may still be gleaned by
hose who earnestly seek them, even in the latest days of the

great pilgrimage.

The woods are very beautiful; on Mount the ground-
work of the forest was colored red by the many little whortleberry
bushes growing there—they are brighter than usual. Here and
there we found fresh berries on them, and a white flower among
their red leaves. Some of the wych-hazels have lost their foliage
entirely, the yellow blossoms hanging on leafless branches.

A number of the trees, in low situations and along the shores of
the lake, are quite green still. The alders are all unchanged.
So are the apple-trees, lilacs, syringas, the willows and aspens.
The poplars are beginning to turn yellowish on their lower
branches, their tops are still clear green.

Saturday, 14th.—Pleasant day. Walked some distance along
the bank of the river. Gathered handsome berries of the cran-
berry-tree. Found many vines along the bank in that direction ;
bitter-sweet, with its red berries; hairy honeysuckle; green-
briars, with their dark-blue berries, besides many Virginia creepers
and grape-vines. Observed several soft maples of a clear gold-
color throughout, while others near them were bright crimson ;
they are not so often variegated as the sugar maple. Saw a
handsome thorn-tree vivid red. The large leaves of the moose-
wood are yellow. The mountain maple is pinkish red. Plums

and wild cherries reddish. A handsome dog-wood, of the alternate-

344 RURAL HOURS.

leaved variety, deep lake; it was quite a tree. The Viburnums
are generally well colored at this season; the large leaves of the
hobble-bush especially are quite showy now. This is the American
‘“‘way-faring tree,’ but on several accounts it scarcely deserves
the name; though pretty in its way, it is only a shrub, and in-
stead of giving pleasure to the wanderer, it is frequently an
obstacle in his path, for the long branches will sometimes root
themselves anew from the ends, thus making a tangled thicket
about them ; this habit, indeed, has given to the shrub the name
of “ hobble-bush.” The blackberry-bushes are a deep brownish
red ; the wild raspberries purplish red. Altogether, the shrubs
and bushes strike us as more vividly colored than usual. Every
season has some peculiarity of its own in this way, the trees and
bushes varying from year to year, which is an additional source of
interest in the autumnal pageant. <A particular maple, which for
years has turned a deep purple crimson, is now yellow, with a flush
of scarlet. Observed several ashes yellow shaded with purple, the
two colors being very clearly marked on the same tree.

Monday, 16th.—Charming weather; bright and warm, with
hazy Indian summer atmosphere. They are harvesting the last
maize-fields ; some farmers “top” the stalks, that is to say, cut
off the upper half, and leave the lower ears several weeks longer
to ripen. Others cut the whole crop at once, gathering the ears
first, then cutting the stalks and leaving them to stand in sheaves
about the fields for a few days. The maize harvest is usually
several weeks going on, as some farmers are much earlier with the
task than others. The red buckwheat sheaves are also left stand-
ing about some farms much longer than others ; they are seen in

many fields just now, in neighborhood with the maize-stalks,

AUTUMN AND ART. 345

The birds are quite numerous still; many robins running about
the lawn. Gnats and gray flies, nnumerable, are dancing in the
sunshine. Saw yellow butterflies. Heard a few field-crickets
chirruping cheerfully.

Tuesday, 17th—In our walk this morning, observed a large
stone farm-house, with maples grouped about in most brilliant
color; a party of men were husking maize in the foreground ; a
group of cows grazing, in one direction, and a cart with a pile of
noble pumpkins lying in the other. It would have made a good
picture of an American autumn scene. The coloring of the trees
was just what one could wish for such a purpose, and the con-
trast with the stone house and gray barns was all that could be
desired.

It is to be regretted that we have not more superior pictures of
autumnal scenes, for the subjects are so fine that they are worthy
of the greatest pencils. It is true, Mr. Cole, and some others of
our distinguished artists, have given us a few pictures of this kind ;
but in no instance, I believe, has a work of this nature been yet
considered as a chef-d’ceuvre of the painter. No doubt there
must be great difficulties, as well as great beauties, connected with
the subject. There is no precedent for such coloring as nature
requires here among the works of old masters, and the American
artist must necessarily become an innovator; nay, more, we are
all of us so much accustomed to think of a landscape only in its
spring or summer aspects, that when we see a painting where the
trees are yellow and scarlet, and purple, instead of being green,
we have an unpleasant suspicion that the artist may be imposing
cn us in some of his details. This is one of those instances in

which it requires no little daring simply to copy nature. And
15*

346 RURAL HOURS.

then there are other difficulties in the necessary studies: three or
four weeks at the utmost are all that is allowed to the painter from
year to year; and from one autumn to another he may almost
persuade himself that he was deceived in this or that tint, pre-
served by his sketches. In short, to become a superior and
faithful painter of autumn in this country, must require a course
of study quite peculiar, and prolonged over half a lifetime. Still,
some landscape Rubens or Titian may yet, perhaps, arise among
us, whose pencil shall do full justice to this beautiful and peculiar
subject.

Independently of this higher branch of art, one would gladly
see the beauty of our autumnal foliage turned to account in many
other ways; as yet it has scarcely made an impression upon the
ornamental and useful arts, for which it is admirably adapted.
What beautiful arabesques might be taken from our forests, when
in brilliant color, for frescoes or paper-hangings! What patterns
for the dyer, and weaver, and printer; what models for the arti-
ficial-flower makers and embroiderers ; what designs for the richest
kind of carpeting! Before long, those beautiful models which fill
the land every autumn, must assuredly attract the attention they
deserve from manufacturers and mechanics; that they have not
already done so, is a striking proof of our imitative habits in every-
thing of this kind. Had the woods about Lyons been filled with
American maples and creepers, we may rest assured that the
shops in Broadway and Chestnut street would long since have
been filled with ribbons, and silks, and brocades, copied from
them.

Wednesday, 18th.—Rainy, mild. The woods, alas! are begin-

uing to fade. Many trees are losing something of their vivid

ne

THE BUTCHER-BIRD. 347

coloring, and others are rapidly dropping their leaves. People
observe that the forest has not remained in full color as long as
usual this fall. The last twenty-four hours of rainy weather has
had a great effect. A week or two earlier, rain will often height-
en the coloring, but after the leaves begin to lose their life it
hastens their decay.

The larches are just touched with yellow; hitherto they have
been clear green. The willows and abele-trees are unchanged.
The shrubbery is getting quite gay, the rose-bushes turning scar-
let and yellow. The wild roses are generally vivid yellow. The
sweet-briars are already bare of leaves. The snow-ball is pur-
plish ; some of the lilacs are more yellow than common, while oth-
ers are withering slowly, in green, as usual. Some of the scar-
let honeysuckles show quite handsome branches, red, and yellow,

and purple, in the same large leaf. Saw a wild gooseberry in

the woods, with leaves as brilliant as those of a maple.

A number of birds about the house; passengers on their way
south, or winter birds coming in from the woods. Snow-birds, chic-
adees, crested titmice, and sparrows. Also observed a cross-look-

ing butcher-bird sitting by himself; this is the bird which impales

grasshoppers and insects, fastening them upon the thorns and
twigs about the bushes; probably he does it from that sort of

instinct which makes the dog bury a bone, and the squirrel lay

up nuts; having eaten enough for the present, he puts this game
of his by for another occasion. We have never heard, however,
whether they return to feed upon these impaled insects. The
habit has a cruel look, certainly, and no wonder the bird is rather
out of favor. Mr. Wilson says the German farmers in Pennsyl-

vania call him Neuntodter, or Nimekiller, because they believe

348 RURAL HOURS.

that he allows himself to impale nine grasshoppers daily; they
also accuse him of devouring their peas, or those honey-loving
insects which live in hives, called bees by most of us.

Thursday, 19th.—The falling leaves are still brightly colored,
strewing the paths and village side-walks in many places; one is
often tempted to stoop by the brilliancy of some of these fallen
leaves, it seems a pity to leave them to wither in their beauty.
When dried they preserve their colors a long time, especially
when varnished ; of course they lose a degree of brilliancy, but
much less than the flowers.

The brooks and streams are often gayly strewn with the fallen
foliage ; the mill-dam at the Red Brook was sprinkled this after-
noon with bright leaves, red and yellow, like a gay fleet from
fairy-land.

Friday, 20th.—Rain. Many trees in the village losing their
leaves very perceptibly ; those that are yet in leaf have faded de-
cidedly within the last thirty-six hours. The woods are still in
color, however. Larches turning yellow rapidly. Willows un-
changed. Hvergreens in great beauty. ‘The bare locusts brown
with pods. Grass, bright green, well sprinkled with colored
leaves.

Robins and a few other birds flitting about ; saw sparrows, and
several blue-birds, with them.

Saturday, 21st.—Mild, light rain; gnats dancing in spite of the
rain-drops. Gray branches becoming more numerous every hour.
Woods generally fading, though some trees brilliant still, red oaks
and. yellow birches ; along the lake shore the trees are quite gay
yet. The poplars in the village are beginning to drop their leaves.

They first become bare below, while their upper branches are in

CHICADEES. 349

full leaf, unlike most other trees, which lose their foliage from
above, downward.

Monday, 23d.—Clear and cool. Light frost last night, the first
we have had for a fortnight. Bright leaves here and there sail-
ing in the light noon-day air, looking like large butterflies ; some
of them, after bemg severed from the branch, will sail about a
minute or two before they touch the earth. But the woods are
erowing dull. Willows and abele-trees, with a few garden plants
and hedges, are all that is left of green among the deciduous fo-
liage. The apple-trees are losing their leaves; they seldom have
much coloring, and often wither from green to russet without any
gay tint at all.

Saw a few musquitoes in the woods. We have very few of
these annoying insects mm our neighborhood. In the village we
seldom see one; in the woods they sometimes attack us.

The summer birds are rapidly deserting the village; the last
few days have thinned their numbers very much. We have not
seen one to-day.

Tuesday, 24th.—Mild rain. The chicadees are gathering about
the houses again; these birds are resident with us through the
year, but we seldom see them in summer; until the month of
June they are often met fluttering about the groves near at hand,
but from that time until the autumn is advancing, perhaps you
will not see one. We have frequently watched for them in vain
during the warm weather, not only near the village, but in the
woods also, and we have never yet seen one at midsummer. This
morning there was a large flock in the grounds, fluttering about
among the half-naked branches. One is pleased to see the merry

little creatures again.

350 RURAL HOURS.

The snow-birds are also resident in our hills through the year,
but unlike the chicadees, they show themselves at all seasons.
You can hardly go mto the woods without meeting them; many
are seen running in and out about the fences, and they may al-
most be called village birds with us; at all seasons you may find
them about the gardens and lawns, and I have no doubt some of
them have nests in the village. The greater number, however,
retire to the fields and hill-sides. At one moment this afternoon
there was a meeting in our own trees of two large flocks, chica-
dees and snow-birds ; they: were all in fine spirits at the approach
of winter, restless and chirping, flitting hither and thither with
rapid, eager movements. Among the throng were two little birds
of another kind, much smaller in size, and of a plain plumage ;
they were evidently strangers, possibly on their way southward ;
they perched on a high twig apart from the flock, and sat there
quietly together, side by side, as if weary; they remained on the
same branch more than a quarter of an hour, just turning their
little heads occasionally to look with amazement at the flirting,
frolicksome chicadees. They were about the size of wrens,
but were perched too high for us to discover of what species they
were.

Wednesday, 25th.—Pleasant. Long drive. Calm, sweet day.
Here and there dashes of warm coloring still in the woods, al-
though in other places they are dull, and nearly bare. The ever-
greens of all kinds are in triumph ; their verdure is brilliantly fresh
and vivid, in their untarnished summer growth, while all other
foliage is fading, and falling from the naked branches. The
larches look prettily ; a few days since they were entirely green,

but now they are wholly yellow, though in full leaf, which, from

AUTUMNAL SEEDS. 351

their evergreen form, attracts the more attention. The abele-
trees look oddly, with their fluttermg leaves, silvery on one side,
and gold-color on the reverse.

A robin flew past us on the highway ; how often one meets them
alone at this season, as if they had been left behind by their
companions.

Thursday, 26th.—Cloudy, but mild. Long drive by the lake
shore. Sky, water, and fields alike gray. Woods getting bare,
yet vivid touches of yellow here and there, the orange of the
birch, or lighter yellow of the aspen, enlivening the deepening
grays. The village still looks leafy from the distance, chiefly from
its willows. We passed a group of fine native poplars, very large,
and quite green still; what is singular, a very large maple near
them was also in full leaf, and partially green, though very many
of its brethren are quite bare. These trees stood near the lake
shore. The whole bank between the road and the water was still
gay, with a fringe of underwood in color. Many asters of the
common sorts were growing here, with golden-rods also, and a
strawberry blite in crimson flower. The asters, and golden-rods,
and nabali, and hawk-worts, along this bank have been innumera-
ble through the season, and now that they are in seed, their
downy heads look prettily mingled with the plants still in blos-
som, and the bushes still in leaf; the weather has been quiet, and
the ripening blossoms, undisturbed by the wind, preserve the form
of their delicate heads perfectly, some tawny, some gray, some
silvery white, powdered flowers, as it were, like the powdered
beauties of by-gone fashions. ‘The pyramid golden-rod is really
very pleasing in this airy, gossamer state. A large portion of our

later flowers seem to ripen their seed in this manner. The gOs-

352 RURAL HOURS.

samer of the willow-herb and that of the silk-wort are perhaps
the most beautiful kinds, so purely white, but the down lies con-
cealed within the pods, and as soon as these are opened the seeds
escape, flying off on their beautiful silvery plumes. The down
of the asters and golden-rods, however, remains a long time on
the plants; and so does that of the fire-weed, which is very
white.

What ugly things are the shrivelled thistles at this season! they
look utterly worthless, more like the refuse of a past year than
plants of this summer’s growth; and yet there is life in their
withered stalks, for here and there a purple blossom is trying to
flower among the ragged branches.

A very large flock of wild ducks, flying northward over the
lake, alighted on the water within half a mile of us; there must
have been a hundred of them, if not more. We seldom see so
many together in our waters.

Friday, 27th.—At early dawn this morning, just as the sky

was becoming flushed with sun-rise colors, we saw a large flock

of wild geese flying steadily to the southward. They moved in a:

regular wedge-shaped phalanx, as usual, with their leader a little
in advance. Perhaps they had passed the night in our lake;
they are frequently seen here, though rarely shot by our “ gun-
ners.’ ‘They seem often to travel by daylight. The ducks are
said to migrate generally at night, especially the Mallard or com-
mon wild duck. It was a beautiful sight to see the flock, this
morning ; it reminded one of Mr. Bryant’s noble “ Water-fowl,”
simply, however, because one never sees the wild fowl travelling
through the air, spring or autumn, without thinking of those fine

verses, In the present case it was morning, and a whole flock

MIGRATION OF BIRDS. 3538

were in movement; Mr. Bryant saw his bird in the evening, and
it was alone, still the lines would recur to one:

‘* Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way.”

A flock of migratory birds can never fail, indeed, to be a beau-
tiful and striking sight. The proud ships crossing the vast ocean,
with man at the helm, are not a more impressive spectacle than

these lesser creatures travelling through

‘* The desert and illimitable air—

Lone, wandering, but not lost.”

Doubtless the flocks which now pass over the valley are as
nothing compared with the throngs that went and came when the
red man hunted here; still, we never fail to see them spring and
fall. Many are the different varieties which come and go, and
various are their habits of travellmg. Some fly by day, others at
night; some are silent, others utter loud and peculiar cries ; these
move in a reeular phalanx, those in a careless crowd; some have
leaders, others need none; these move rapidly, and directly to-
ward their goal, others linger weeks on the way. Some travel in
flocks, others in pairs; with these the males fly first, with those
all move tegether; some follow the coast, others take an inland
course. .

And how much pleasure the birds give and receive by their
migrations! This simgular instinct implanted in the breast of the
fowls of the air, is indeed a very touching instance of the tender-

ness of Providence, who not only bestows what is necessary on

354 RURAL HOURS.

His creatures, but adds to the cup of life so many innocent pleas-
ures. Some birds are stationary, and, doubtless, it would have
been easy to have ordered that all should be so; but now we
find that many of the most beautiful and pleasing of the race
pass and repass annually over a broad expanse of the earth, giv-
ing and receiving enjoyment as they move onward. Many of
those which are the most cheering and delightful spread them-
selves over half the earth: among these are the delicate wrens
and humming-birds, the gay swallows, those noble singers, the
thrushes ; while the larger and more dangerous birds of prey
are few in numbers, and chiefly confined to particular regions.
No doubt the change of food, of air, of climate, is a source of en-
joyment to the birds; nay, the very effort of the journey itself
is probably accompanied with that gratification which is usually
connected with the healthful, natural exercise of the higher pow-
ers of every living being. And how much delight do they afford
mankind! Their first appearance, with the hopeful hours of
spring; their voices, their pleasing forms, their cheerful move-
ments, nay, their very departure in autumn, all bring to our hearts
some pleasures, and thoughts, and feelings, which we should not
know without them. Wanderers though they be, yet the birds of
one’s native ground are a part of home to us,

Perhaps the birds generally follow the sarae course, year after
year, in their annual journeyings. ‘There are facts which lead one
to believe so. It is already proved that the same individuals, of
various tribes, will return to the same groves for many successive
seasons. It has also been observed that certain birds are seen to
the north and south of a particular region every year; but within

certain limits they are never met with. Like the house-wren, for

MIGRATION OF BIRDS. 355

instance, which avoids Louisiana, and yet passes farther to the
southward every autumn. Other cases of the same kind might be
named. <A well-authenticated story is also told by Mr. Wilson
of a wild goose which had been tamed on Long Island, but the
following spring flew away to join a passing flock on its way to
the northward. The succeeding autumn, as the farmer was stand-
ing in his barn-yard, he observed a flock of wild geese on the
wing; one of these left the flock and alighted near him, proving
to be his old pet. Now, the party which the goose joined was
probably the same as that with which she returned, and here
they were passing directly over the same farm, going and coming.

The flocks that pass over our own little lake note it, perhaps,
as the last in the long line of inland waters, the thousand. lakes
of all sizes passed on their way from the arctic seas. There is no
sheet of fresh water of any size to the southward and eastward of
our own. Possibly, the celebrated canvas-backs pass us every
year on their way to the Chesapeake, for the mouth of our own
river is favorite ground with those celebrated birds. Very few of
the canvas-backs remain in this State; only a very small num-
ber are seen occasionally in the Hudson.

Saturday, 28th.—The woods are fading fast, losing their leaves
rapidly. Here and there, however, we yet see a birch or aspen,
perhaps on the lake shore, perhaps on the mountain-side, still
vividly yellow. Seen thus amid the dull and dreary woods, they
look like forgotten torches, burning among the wrecks of past
revels.

Monday, 30th.— Mild, gray day; air soft and spring-like.
Toward evening walked to the glen, along the Green Brook. Met

256 RURAL HOURS.

a solitary robin. The .locks of summer birds have now entirely
disappeared ; only a few stragglers are seen, shy and solitary, as
though they had been forgotten. We frequently throw out seeds
and crumbs for the birds at this season; but it is seldom, indeed,
one has the pleasure of seeing the little creatures eat them. As
long as there are berries on the vines and bushes, and seeds on
the flowers and weeds, they prefer to forage for themselves.
They often alight near the birds-seed and bread thrown on the |
oravel, without touching a crumb; and the provision thrown out
for them will le unheeded until the snow falls upon it. Having

made up their minds to leave us, they are not to be coaxed into

staying by any friendly attentions. Perhaps our robin, in par-
ticular, may be more shy than that of Europe. We hear of the
European red-breast being frequently fed upon crumbs about
farm-houses in cold weather. Christiana, in the Pilgrim’s Prog-
ress, thought they lived entirely on such food: “Then, as they
were coming in from abroad, they espied a robin with a great
spider in his mouth: so the Interpreter said, ‘Look here! So
they looked, and Mercy wondered ; but Christiana said, ‘What a
disparagement it is to such a little pretty bird as the robin red-
breast is! he being also a bird above many, that loveth to maintain a
kind of sociableness with men. I had thought they had lived
upon crumbs of bread, or upon other such harmless matter. I
like him worse than I did.’ ”

We have no right to complain, however, if robin prefers spiders
to bread, since we in our turn are capable of making a very good
meal of robin himself; and so, after abusing him for neglecting

the crumbs, we give a pretty anecdote, much to his credit; it is

AN AFFECTIONATE ROBIN. 357

found in the “Gleanings” of Mr. Jesse, occurred in England, and
is vouched for by Mr. Jesse himself. A gentleman had directed
a wagon to be packed with hampers and boxes, intending to
send it some distance; its departure was delayed, however, and
it was placed under a shed, packed as it was. While there, says
Mr. Jesse, “a pair of robins built their nest among some straw
in the wagon, and had hatched their young just before it was sent
away. One of the old birds, mstead of being frightened away
by the motion of the wagon, only left its nest from time to time,
for the purpose of flying to the nearest hedge for food, for its
young; and thus alternately affordmg warmth and nourishment
to them, it arrived at Worthing. The affection of this bird hav-
ine been observed by the wagoner, he took care, in unloading, not
to disturb the robin’s nest; and my readers will, I am sure, be
glad to hear that the robin and its young ones returned in safety
to Walton Heath, being the place from whence they had set out.
Whether it was the male or the female robin which kept with the
wagon, I have not been able to ascertain, but most probably the
latter, as what will not a mother’s love and a mother’s tenderness
induce her to perform? The distance the wagon went in going
and returning could not have been less than one hundred miles.”

Tuesday, 31st.—About a mile from the village, there runs a
little stream whose waters are darker in color than others in the
neighborhood, and called, on that account, the Red Brook—the
first humble tributary of a river which may boast many a broad
and flowing branch, ere it reaches the ocean. It comes toward
the highway through a narrow ravine thickly shaded by forest-
trees, and then passing beneath a bridge, winds through open

meadows until it joins the river. This little stream turns a saw-

358 RURAL HOURS.

mill on one side of the highway, and on the other fills the vats of
a tannery ; several roads draw toward the point from different di-
rections, and a little hamlet is springing up here, which has been
chosen as the site of a school-house.

The building itself, standing within bow-shot of the saw-miil, is
of stone, and one of the best in the neighborhood. ‘The situation
is good, and the spot might easily have been made very pleasant
by merely leaving a few scattered trees here and there; but they
have been all swept away to feed the saw-mill, and the banks of
the ravine, beautifully shaded only a short time since, are now be-
coming every day more bare. A spring of water, where the chil-
dren fill their pitchers, falls with a pleasant trickling sound into a

rude trough hard by; a single tree, with a bench in the shade,

would have given a friendly, rural look to the spot, but neither

shade nor seat is there. Even a tuft of young hemlocks, which
stood on the bank near the spring, have been recently cut down.

The smaller towns and villages of this country have generally
a pleasing character, a cheerful, flourishing aspect, with their trees,
their gardens, and neat door-yards, which give them an adyan-
tage over the more close and confined villages of the Old World.
But with the hamlet, the mere cluster of a dozen buildings, the
case is different. The European hamlet is often a very pictur-
esque spot, for it frequently happens that the cottages have grown
up about some half-ruined tower, or ancient bridge, or old well,
or a quaint-looking mill, or perhaps some old religious stone.
With us the central pomt of a hamlet can seldom boast of more
attractions than a smithy, or a small store and post-office, or a
naked school-house, while the spirit which takes pleasure in local

public improvement, seems to lie dormant until aroused by the

a
A

THE SCHOOL-HOUSE. 559

ambition of becoming a greater “settlement ;” it is only then that
trees which a few years before were all blindly cut away, are
now carefully replaced by regular plantations, and the general
aspect of things is brought under consideration, But the hamlet
as the Red Brook has not yet reached this point of progress. Many
trees have been cut down, scarce. one set out. There is not even
a classic birch within shading distance of the school-house ; one

looks in vain for the

GG birchen tree

Which learning near her little dome did stowe.”’

The ‘“birchen twig,” that whilome sceptre of power in the hand
of dame or master, is, however, no longer an essential part of the
school-house furniture ; like Solomon’s rod, it has well nigh be-
come a mere tradition. ‘The red-cherry ruler is in modern times
the ensign of office.

Many, indeed, are the changes that have taken place, without
and within the school-house walls, since the days of Shenstone
and the dame who taught him his A B C, a hundred years ago.
It is no longer a “matron old whom we school-mistress name,”
who is found presiding there; and all that part of the description

which refers to her, has become quite obsolete :

«¢ Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth,
Ne pompous title did denauch her ear,
Goody—good-woman—gossip—n’aunt, forsooth,
Or dame, the sole additions she did hear.”’

An elderly person acting as master or mistress of a common

school, is an unheard of circumstance throughout the country ; it

may be doubted if such an individual could be found between the

360 RURAL HOURS.

St. Croix and the Colorado. It is even rare to meet one who has
decidedly reached the years of middle life; while nothing is more
common than to see very young persons in this post of authority.
In most situations, a young countenance is a pleasant sight; but
perhaps there is scarcely another position in which it appears to
so little advantage, as sole ruler in the school-house. Young
people make excellent assistants, very good subordinates in a large
establishment, but it is to be regretted that our common schools
should so often be under their government, subject only to a su-
pervision, which is frequently quite nominal. They may know as
much of books as their elders, but it is impossible they should
know as much of themselves and of the children; where other
points are equal, they cannot have the same experience, the same
practical wisdom. Hitherto, among us, teaching in the public
schools has not been looked upon as a vocation for life; it has
been almost always taken up as a job for a year or two, or even
for a single season; the aim and ambition of those who resort to
it, too often lie beyond the school-house walls. The young man
of eighteen or twenty means to go into business, or to buy a farm,
or to acquire a profession; he means anything, in short, but to
remain a diligent, faithful, persevering schoolmaster for any length
of time. The young girl of seventeen or eighteen intends, per-
haps, to learn a trade next year, or to go into a factory, or to pro-
cure an outfit for her wedding ; never, indeed, does the possibility
of teaching after she shall have reached the years of caps and
gray hairs occur to her even in a nightmare. And yet nothing
can be more certain than that those young people have undertaken
duties the most important man or woman can discharge; and if

they persevere in the occupation, with a conscientious regard. to

ey

THE SCHOOL-HOUSE. Sol

its obligations, they will be far better qualified for the same situa-
tion twenty years hence, than they are to-day.

The metamorphosis of

** books of stature small,

Which, with pellucid horn secured, are ”

into Dictionaries, and volumes on Science, is quite as striking as the
change from old to young, in the instructors. The very name of
a horn-book is never heard to-day, and perhaps there are not half
a dozen persons in an American country school district who know
its meaning. In this respect, our children of the present day have
greatly the advantage over their predecessors; few things are
cheaper and more common now than books. Possibly fingers are
also more clean, and do not need the sheath of horn to protect
the paper; though, upon consideration, it seems by no means cer-
tain that the hands of modern little folk are so much better washed
than those of their grand-parents, since it will be remembered that
the dame’s little troop for “unkempt hair,” were “sorely shent,”
and where the hair was required to he nicely combed, it is but nat-
ural to suppose that faces and hands were well washed.

The flock that came tripping out of the Red Brook school-house
this afternoon was composed of boys and girls, varying in ages
and sizes from the little chubby thing, half boy, half baby, to the
elder sister, just beginning to put on the first airs of womanhood.
Different codes of manners are found to prevail in different school-
houses about the country: sometimes, when the children are at
play before the door, or trudging on their way to or from home,
the little girls will curtsey, and the boys bow to the passing stran-

ger, showing that they have been taught to make their manners ;
16

362 RURAL HOURS.

but—alas, that it should be so—there are other unruly flocks
where the boys, ay, and even the girls, too, have been known to
unite in hooting and making faces at the traveller, a disgrace to
themselves and to their instructors. But the children at the Red
Brook behaved very properly, albeit they were not so polished as
to bow and curtsey. They told their names, showed their books,
and pointed out their different roads home in a civil, pretty
way. Indeed, those instances of unmannerly conduct alluded to
above did not occur in the same neighborhood, but were observed
at some little distance from this valley.

The appearance of most of the little people was creditable ;
they looked cleanly and simple. Many of the children were bare-
footed, as usual in warm weather,—almost all the boys, and a
number of the girls. In winter they are all provided with shoes
and stockings. Here and there among the girls there was some
show of tawdry finery: ribbons that were no longer clean, glass
jewels, and copper rings; and one of the older girls had a silk
hat, which looked both hot and heavy, beside her companions’
nice sun-bonnets ; it was trimmed inside and out with shabby ar-
tificial flowers. But then, as an offset to these, there were several
among the little people whose clothes, well washed and ironed,
showed a patch here and there. Now there is nothing in the
world which carries a more respectable look with it, than a clean
coat or frock which has been nicely patched; when united with
cleanliness, the patch tells of more than one virtue in the wearer:
it shows prudence, simplicity, and good sense, and industry ; it
shows that he or she is not ashamed of honest poverty, and does
not seek to parade under false colors. ‘There are two situations

in which patched clothing excite an especial feeling of interest and

THE SCHOOL-HOUSE. 363

respect for the wearer; and these are, in church and at school.
At a time when a gay dress is thought as necessary at church as
in a ball-room, when constant excuses are made by women who
have not much money to spare, mothers and daughters, that
they cannot go to church because they have no “new hat,” no
““new dress,’ when husbands and sons require new beavers and
new broadcloth for the same purpose, it is honorable to that man
or woman to whom Providence has appointed the trial of poverty,
that a patched coat or a faded gown does not keep them from
going to the house of God. And when one sees a family ef chil-
dren going to school in clean and well-mended clothing, it tells a
great deal in favor of their mother; one might vouch that those
children learn some valuable lessons at home, whatever they may
be taught at school.

One can never look with entire indifference upon a flock of chil-
dren; those careless little ones have a claim upon us all, which
makes itself felt as we listen to their prattle and watch their busy,
idle games. As much variety of character and countenance may
be found among them, as exists in their elders, while the picture
is so much the more pleasing, as the lines are always softened by
something of the freshness of childhood. ‘This sweet-faced little
girl, that bright-eyed boy, this laughing, merry young rogue,
yonder timid, gentle child, this playful, kitten-hke creature, that
frank and manly lad, will each in turn attract attention; ay, even
the dull, the cold, the passionate, the sullen, are not forgotten ;
so long as they show childish faces, we look at them with an espe-
cial interest, made up of hope as well as fear. Each has its claim.
It will often happen that the most intelligent countenance is con-

nected with ill-formed features, that the best expression of kindly

364 RURAL HOURS.

feeling, or generous spirit, beams over the homely face. And
then we know but too well, with the fatal knowledge of daily ex-
perience, that yonder bright-eyed boy, by abusing the talent en-
trusted to him, may fall with the evil-doers. We know that:
yonder cherub-faced girl may sink to the lowest degradation of
corruption, unless she learn betimes to cherish womanly modesty,
and fear of sin. And, thanks be to God, we know also, that
the cold heart may learn to feel, the sullen temper may clear, the
passionate may become cool, the wavering firm, by humbly taking
io heart the lessons of wisdom, and earnestly, ceaselessly, seeking
a blessing from their Maker and Redeemer.

Some persons, in watching a party of children, have pleased
themselves by drawing an imaginary horoscope for each of the
eroup; adding a score or two of years to each young life, they
parcel out honors, and wealth, and fame, and learning to some ;
care, and trouble, and disappointment to others; to these they-
give distinction, to those obscurity ; appointing the different lots,
perhaps, with as much judgment and impartiality as the world
will show in bestowing them at a later day. But I should care
little to know which of those lads will count the highest number
of thousands, I should not ask which will boast the readiest
tongue, the sharpest wit, which will acquire the most learning, or
which will fill the highest place. There is another question to
be answered ; a question of deeper import to the individual him-
self, and to his fellow-creatures. True, it does not involve either
wealth, or honors, or fame; but it is much more closely connected
than either of these with individual happiness, and with the well-
being of society. I would ask, rather, which of those boys now

making trial of the powers with which their Maker has endowed

5

THE SCHOOL-HOUSE. 365
them, will employ those powers, both of body and mind, to
the best, the most just, the most worthy purposes? That boy,
though his talents may be few, his lot humble, will do more for
himself, more for the real good of others, than either of his com-
panions ; his will be the healthful, quiet conscience, his that con-
tentment which “is great gain: his will be the example most
needed in the day and society to which he belongs. The precise
amount of abilities is a point of far less importance than the ends
to which those abilities are devoted ; wealth is daily won by evil
means, honors are daily purchased at a vile price, and fame is
hourly trumpeting falsehoods through this world; but neither
wealth, nor honors, nor fame can ever bring true health, and
peace, and contentment to the heart. He who endeavors faith-
fully and humbly to use his faculties for truly good ends, by
plainly good means, that man alone makes a fitting use of the
great gift of life; however narrow his sphere, however humble his
lot, that man will taste the better blessmgs of this world, the best
hopes for the world toward which we are all moving. ‘That man,
that lad, commands our unfeigned respect and admiration, what-
ever be his position in life.

To a looker-on—and one very sincerely interested in the sub-
ject—there appears a chief error i American education under
most of its forms, the neglect of systematic training in childhood and
youth. There are two great principles which make up the spirit
of all education—cmpulse, if we may apply the word in this sense,
and restraint. These are not equally attended to among us,
though both are clearly essential to the good of the individual,
and of society. There is no want of intellectual activity in our

system ; there is no fear that the children in the district school-

366 RURAL HOURS.

house will be cramped by confining their energies within too nar-
row a field, no fear that their faculties will remain dull and _ be-
numbed for the want of impulse. Everything lies open before
them ; and motives for action are ceaselessly urged upon them by
the most animating, nay, even exciting language. It is the oppo-
site principle of restraint which seems to receive less consideration
than it deserves. It is not wholly neglected, God in mercy forbid
that 1t ever should be ; but does it meet with that full, serious at-
tention which is needed? Is it not too often rendered subservient
to the former principle of impulse, and activity? And yet, let it
be remembered that it is this principle of restraint which is more
especially the moral point in education; where it fails, discipline
and self-denial are wanting, with all the strength they give to in-
tegrity, and honor, and true self-respect, with all the decencies of
good manners which they infuse into our daily habits. That must
ever be the soundest education in which the proportions be-
tween the different parts are most justly preserved.

Let it be remembered, also, that the more knowledge is increas-
ed, so much the more binding becomes the obligation to keep up
the just proportions between moral and intellectual instruction.
We have thrown aside the primer and horn-book, Jet us bear in
mind that every new science introduced into the school-room
brings with it an additional weight of moral responsibility. And
instead of the amount of intellectual culture bestowed being an
excuse for the neglect of religious and moral instruction, this very
amount becomes in itself an imperative demand for more earnest,
energetic, hearty efforts on those vital points. In a Christian
community assuming their education, the children have a clear

right to plain, sound, earnest lessons of piety, truth, honesty,

THE SCHOOL-HOUSE. 367

justice, and self-discipline. Neglect of these points becomes
treachery to them, treachery to our God. And without these,
though complete in every other point, what is the education of an
individual? However showy in other respects, without these
what is the education of a nation?

November, Wednesday, 1st.—Decided frost last night ; yet very
mild this morning. Bright, cloudless day. Long walk on the
hills. The woods are getting bare; even the willows and abele-
trees are thmning. The larches are deep orange; their evergreen
forms look oddly in this bright color.

The lake ultramarine blue. Saw several butterflies and parties
of gnats. <A full flock of snow-birds were feeding before a cot-
tage door; and among them was a large, handsome fox-colored
sparrow, one of the handsomest birds of its tribe. It seemed quite
at ease among the snow-birds.

Thursday, 2d.—Very pleasant. Delightful walk in the woods.
Some of the forest-trees are budding again. Found pipsissiwa
and a ground-laurel, with their flowers in bud: the first plant blooms
regularly about Christmas in some parts of the country, but | have
never heard of its flowering here in winter. Gathered a pretty bunch
of bead-ruby ; the transparent berries quite perfect, and the cluster
unusually large. The mosses in flower in some spots; the hand-
some Hypnum splendens, with its red stems, and some of the other
feather mosses, Hypnum crista-castrensis, dc., dc. Ferns, sheltered
by woods, in fine preservation. The earth thickly strewed with
fallen leaves, completely covering the track, and in many places
burying the lesser plants—a broad, unbroken carpeting of russet.

This was especially the case where chestnut-trees were numerous,

or Sig se - Ps

368 RURAL HOURS. |

for the foliage seems to fall in fuller showers in such spots. The
beech-trees are dotted with nuts. The wych-hazel has opened its
husks, and the yellow flowers are dropping with the ripe nuts
from the branches. Acorns and chestnuts are yplentifully scat-
tered beneath the trees which bore them. How much fruit of this
sort, the natural fruit of the earth—nuts and berries—is wasted
every year; or, rather, how bountiful is the supply provided for
the living creatures who need such food !

Friday, 3d.—Very pleasant morning; the sun shining with a
mild glow, and a warm air from the south playing over the fad-
ing valley. Long walk to a neighboring hamlet.

The farmers are busy with their later autumn tasks, closing the
work of the present year; while, at the same time, they are al-
ready looking forward to another summer. There is something
pleasing in these mingled labors beneath the waning sun of
November. It is autumn grown old, and lingering in the field
with a kindly smile, while they are making ready for the young
spring to come. Here a farmer was patching up barns and sheds
to shield his flocks and stores against the winter storms. There
ploughmen were guiding their teams over a broad field, turning up
the sod for fresh seed, while other laborers were putting up new
fences about a meadow which must lie for months beneath the
snow, ere the young grass will need to be protected in its growth.
Several wagons passed us loaded with pumpkins, and apples, and
potatoes, the last crops of the farm on the way from one granary
to another. Thus the good man, in the late autumn of life, gathers
cheerfully the gifts which Providence bestows for that day, de-

spising no fruit of the season; however simple or homely, le re-

SIDE SADDLE FLOWER. ( Sarracenia Purpurea Var. Heterophylla|

j 6. P Putnam, NY.
Enoicotls Lith. 17+

%

A NOVEMBER WALK. | 369

ceives each with thankfulness, while, looking forward beyond the
coming snows, he sees another spring, and prepares with trustful
hope for that brighter season.

Half an hour’s walk upon a familiar track brought us to a gate
| opening into an old by-road which leads over the hills to the little
village where we were bound; it was formerly the highway, but
a more level track has been opened, and this is now abandoned,
or only used as a foot-path. These lanes are charming places for
a walk; there are cross-roads enough about the country in every
direction, but they are all pretty well travelled, and it isa pleasant
variety, once in a while, to follow a silent by-way like this, which
is never dusty, and always quiet. It carried us first over a rough,
open hill-side, used as a sheep-pasture; a large flock were nib-
bling upon the scraps of the summer’s grass among the withered
| mulleins ; we went quietly on our way, but as usual, our approach
threw the simple creatures into a panic, disturbing their noon-day
meal,
| Having reached the brow of a hill, we turned to enjoy the view ;
the gray meadows of the valley lay at our feet, and cattle were
feeding in many of them. At this season the flocks and herds
| become a more distinct feature of the landscape than during the

leafy luxuriance of summer; the thickets and groves no longer

conceal them, and they turn from the sheltered spots to seek the
sunshine of the open fields, where their forms rise in full and
warm relief upon the fading herbage. The trees have nearly lost
their leaves, now scattered in russet showers, about their roots,
while the branches are drawn in shadowy lines by the autumn
sun upon the bleached grass and withering foliage with which it

is strewn. The woods are not absolutely bare, however, there are

16*

340 RURAL HOURS.

yet patches in the forest where the warm coloring of October has
darkened into a reddish brown; and here and there a tree still
throws a fuller shadow than belongs to winter. The waters of
the river were gleaming through the bare thickets on its banks, anda
the pretty pool, on the next farm, looked like a clear, dark agate,
dropped amid the gray fields. A column of smoke, rising slowly
from the opposite hill, told of a wood which had fallen, of trees
which had seen their last summer. The dun stubble of the old
grain-fields, and the darker soil of the newly-ploughed lands, varied
the grave November tints, while here and there in their midst lay
a lawn of young wheat, sending up its green blades, soft and
fresh as though there were no winter in the year, growing more
clear and life-like as all else becomes more dreary—a ray of hope
on the pale brow of resignation.

So calm and full of repose was the scene, that we turned from
it unwillingly, and with as much regret as though it were still
gay with the beauty of summer.

Just beyond the brow of the hill the road enters a wood; here
the path was thickly strewn with fallen leaves, still crisp and
fresh, rustling at every step as we moved among them, while on
either side the trees threw out their branches in bare lines of gray.
Old chestnuts, with blunt and rough notches elms; with graceful
waving spray ; vigorous maples, with the healthful, upright growth
of their tribe; the glossy beech, with friendly arms stretched out,
as if to greet its neighbors, and among them all, conspicuous as
ever, stood the delicate birch, with its alabaster-like bark, and
branches of a porphyry color, so strangely different from the
parent stem. Every year, as the foliage falls, and the trees re-

appear in their wintry form, the eye wonders a while at the change,

a

A NOVEMBER WALK. oral

just as we look twice ere we make sure of our acquaintance in
the streets, when they vary theirason.awrob rdwite h tes he

The very last flowers are withermg. The beautiful fern of the
summer lies in rusty patches on the open hill-side, though within the
woods it is still fresh and green. We found only here and there

a solitary aster, its head drooping, and discolored, showing but

8
little of the grace of a flower. Even the hardy little balls of the
everlasting, or moonshine, as the country people call it, are get-
ting blighted and shapeless, while the haws on the thorn-bushes,
the hips of the wild rose and sweet-briar, are already shrunken
and faded. It is singular, but the native flowers seem to wither
earlier than those of the garden, many of which belong to warmer
climates. It is not uncommon to find German asters, flos adonis,
heart’s-ease, and a few sprigs of the monthly honeysuckle, here
and there, in the garden even later than this; some seasons we
have gathered quite a pretty bunch of these flowers in the first
week of December. At that time nothing like a blossom is to be
found in the forest.

There once stood a singular tree in the wood through which we
were passing. Wonders are told of its growth, for it is now some
years since it disappeared, and its existence is becoming a tradition
of the valley. Some lovers of the marvellous have declared that
upon the trunk of a hemlock rose the head of a pine; while others
assert that 1t was two trees, whose trunks were so closely jomed
from the roots that there appeared but one stem, although the
two different tops were distinctly divided ; others, again, living
near, tell us that it was only a whimsical hemlock. In short,
there are already as many different variations in the story as

are needed to make up a marvellous tale, while all agree at

372 RURAL HOURS

least that a remarkable tree stood for years after the settlement
of the country on this hill, so tall and so conspicuous in its posi-
tion as to be seen at some distance, and well known to all who
passed along the road. Its fate deserves to be remembered more
than its peculiarity. On inquirme what had become of it, we
learned the history of its fall. It was not blasted by lightning—
it was not laid low by the storm—it was not felled by the axe.
One pleasant summer’s night, a party of men from another valley
came with pick and spade and laid bare its roots, digging for
buried treasure. They threw out so much earth, that the next
winter the tree died, and soon after fell to the ground. Who
would have thought that this old crazy fancy of digging about
remarkable trees for hidden treasure should still exist in this
school-going, lecture-hearg, newspaper-reading, speech-making
community ?

“But it was probably some ignorant negro,” was observed on
hearing the story.

“Not at all. They were white men.”

«Poor stupid boors from Europe, perhaps—”

« Americans, born and bred. Thorough Yankees, moreover,
originally from Massachusetts.”

“But by whom did they suppose the money to have been
buried ?. They must have known that this part of the country
was not peopled until after the Revolution, and consequently no
fear of Cow-Boys or Skinners could have penetrated into this wil-
derness. Did they suppose the Indians had gold and silver coin
to conceal ?”

“No. They were digging for Captain Kidd’s money.”

A NOVEMBER WALK. 373

“Captain Kidd! In these forests, hundreds of miles from the
coast |”

Incredible as the folly may seem, such, it appears, was the
notion of these men. According to the computation of the
money-diggers, Captain Kidd must have been the most successful
pirate that ever turned thief on the high seas, and have buried
as many treasures as Croesus displayed. It has been quite com-
mon for people to dig for the pirate’s treasure along the shores of
Long Island, and upon the coast to the northward and southward ;
but one would never have expected the trees of these inland
woods to be uprooted for the same purpose. But men will seek
for gold everywhere, and in any way.

This is the third instance of the kind accidentally come to our
knowledge. The scene of one was in the heart of the city of
New York, and the attraction a singular tree, growing in the
yard of a house in Broadway, whose occupant was repeatedly
disturbed by applications to dig at its roots. The other two
cases occurred among these hills; and on one of these occasions
the search was declared to be commenced at the instigation of a
professed witch, livng in a neighboring village, and regularly
armed with a twig of wych-hazel !

But there is more superstition left among us than is com-
monly supposed, There are still signs and sayings current among
the farmers, about the weather and the crops, which they by no
means entirely discredit ; and there are omens still repeated by
nurses and gossips, and young girls, about death-beds, and cra-

dles, and dreams, and wedding-days, which are not yet so

powerless but that they make some timid heart beat with hope or

3874 RURAL HOURS.

fear, most days that pass over us. Most of these are connected
with rural life, and have doubtless come from the other side of the
ocean; one of the pleasantest, however, may possibly be traced
back to the Indians—the humming-bird and its love-message.

In passing through the woods, we looked about for the ruins
of the old tree, but none of our party knew exactly where it had
stood. We had soon crossed the hill, and Oakdale, with its little
hamlet, opened before us. Its broad shallow stream turns several
mills, one of them a paper-mill, where rags from over the ocean
are turned into sheets for Yankee newspapers. One of the few
sycamores in the neighborhood stands by the bridge.

Saturday, 4th.—Cloudy, and toward evening rainy; I fear our
pleasant weather is over.

Monday, 6th.—Mild. Heavy rain all night, and raining still
this morning. About 10 o’clock some flakes of snow mingled
with the rain—then sleet—then, rather to our surprise, a regular
fall of snow, continuing until afternoon. ‘The whole country white
with it, to the depth of an inch or two. Yet the air is mild to-day.
Thus it is: the leaves have hardly fallen before winter advances ;
shreds of colored foliage are still hanging on some trees and shrubs.
The little weeping-willow is in full leaf, bending under the snow.

Tuesday, 7th.—EHlection day. ‘The flags are flying in the snow,
which still falls in showers, with intervals of sunshine. ‘The elec-
tion goes on very quietly in the village; four years ago there was
rather more movement, and eight years since, there was a very

great fuss with hard cider, log-cabins, and election songs to all

‘tunes. ‘This afternoon there are scarcely more people in the

streets than usual, and very little bustle.

The shrubbery beneath the widows was enlivened to-day by

KM UIT SHOTIDUT AN CUNU7Y J “9

PHU ELMAR FOVINEIL Dee (GETEL ING n'y ©) 2280) ON (SL Ione SE

GOLDEN-CRESTED KINGLETS. 375

a large flock of very pretty little birds, the golden-crested king-
lets, with greenish-yellow and brown bodies, a brilliant carmine
spot on the head, encircled with a golden border, and then a
black one. They are very small, decidedly less than the common
wren, and only a size or two larger than the humming-bird. In
this State they are rare birds. They are hardy little creatures,
raising their young in the extreme northern parts of the continent,
and are chiefly seen here as birds of passage, though remaining
through the winter in Pennsylvania. They are indeed great tray-
ellers, frequenting the West Indies during the winter months. It
is the first time we have ever observed them here, although their
kinsmen, the ruby-crowned kinglets, are very common with us, es-
pecially in the sprmg months, when they linger late among our
maple-blossoms. The flock about the house to-day was quite
large, and they showed themselves several times in the course of
the morning, flickering about the lilac and syringa bushes, and
hanging on the leafless branches of the creeper trained against
the wall.

They have a bird in Europe all but identical with ours, the
difference between the two varieties being so slight that for a long
time the best ornithologists were unaware of it. ‘The European
gold-crests winter in England and Germany; in the last country
they are very numerous, and although so diminutive, they are
brought to market, being esteemed a great dainty ; about Nurem-
burg, in Bavaria, they are particularly abundant, and so much
prized for the table that they command a high price. When
broiled their bodies can scarcely be as large as a French chestnut !
What should we think of a dish of humming-birds ?

It is this little bird which is alluded to in Lafontaine’s charming

376 RURAL ‘HOURS.
fable of the Oak and the Reed; this is the tiny rottelet which the

Oak pronounces a heavy burden for the Reed:
<* Pour vous un roitelet est un pesant fardeau.”

Wednesday, 8th.—November is considered one of the best
months for fishing in our lake; all the more important fish are
now taken in their best state.

We have one fish peculiar to this lake; at least, the variety
found here is very clearly marked, and differs from any yet dis-
covered elsewhere. It is a shad-salmon, but is commonly called
the “Otsego Bass,” and is considered one of the finest fresh-wa-
ter fish in the world. In former years they were so abundant
that they were caught by the thousand in seines ; on one occasion
five thousand are said to have been taken; the people in the vil-
lage scarcely knew what to do with them; some were salted, oth-
ers thrown to the hogs. They are still drawn in the seine, being
seldom taken by the hook, but their numbers, as might be sup-
posed, have very much diminished. An attempt was recently
made to protect them for three years, to allow them to increase
again, but after a few months the law was repealed. The best
months for the bass-fishing are April, May, and June, and in au-
tumn, November and December; they are caught more or less
through the winter, but not during the heats of summer ; or, if
occasionally one is taken in warm weather, it is out of the usual
course of things. The largest bass known here have weighed
seven pounds, but they do not often exceed three or four pounds
at present. They have a very sweet, fine, white meat, with a dark,
gray skin,

The lake trout, or salmon-trout, taken here are also of a superior

FISH. Giol7/

quality ; this same fish, in many other lakes, is considered coarse
and tasteless, but here it is frequently met with very delicate and
rich, and it finds great favor with epicures. It varies very much,
however, with individuals, one being very fine, another quite in-
different. The salmon-trout, in the form we know it, is said to be
almost peculiar to our New York lakes ; at least this same variety
is not found in Canada, nor farther south than Silver Lake, just
beyond the borders of Pennsylvania.* Our fishermen say the
best time for trout fishing is during the last ten days of Novem-
ber ; they are taken, however, at all seasons, but are more conimon
in cool weather. The largest taken here is said to have weighed
thirty pounds, and others twenty-five and twenty-seven pounds ;
within the last dozen years we have seen them weighing sixteen
and twelve pounds, but fish of this size have now become very
rare. They are caught with the seine or with baited hooks, and
are sometimes speared. Some years since, seven or eight hun-
dred were taken at one haul of the seine. In winter, the lake is
well sprinkled with baited hooks, sunk through small openings in
the ice, and fine salmon-trout are often taken in this way.

The pickerel fishing also becomes more active at this season ;
lights are seen now, every evening, passing to and fro along the
shores, to attract the pickerel, and a very pretty sight they are.
The pickerel is said not to extend beyond the Great Lakes. The
largest caught here have weighed seven pounds.

The perch—the yellow perch—is also common in our lake ; the
largest are said to have weighed between three and four pounds.

Besides these our fishermen take eels, dace or roach, suckers, cat-

* Dr. De Kay’s Report on the Fishes of New York.

378 RURAL HOURS.

fish, and bull-pouts. Formerly, when the river was not obstructed
by so many mill-dams, the herring used to visit this inland lake
every year, followmg the stream, many a long mile from the
ocean ; they were a very acceptable variety to the common fare
in those days, and were so numerous that they were frequently
fished up in pails by the first colonists.

Thursday, 9th—At sunrise the thermometer had fallen to 16
above zero. Snow still lying on the ground, though little of it.
Gloomy, dark day. People are taking out their winter clothing,
and asking each other if this can possibly last ? if winter is coming

in earnest, and so suddenly ? Dreary walk, so different from those

of last week; the road hard and rough; had the highway quite
to myself; in the distance of more than a mile, did not meet a
living creature.

Another visit from the little knglets—quite a party of them in
the bushes beneath the windows.

Friday, 10th.—Thermometer only 6 above zero, at seven o’clock
this morning. ‘Don’t be concerned,” say the farmers, ‘“ we shall
have our Indian summer yet!’ One would like to feel sure of it;
the very idea warms one such a day as this.

Saturday, 11th.—Very cold. The thermometer very near

ZeYO.
Monday, 13th.—Mild again. Yesterday, Sunday, there was
another light fall of snow. ,
Tuesday, 14th.—Soft, mild day; but it has scarcely thawed

out of the sunshine for the last week. Snow still lying on the

ground, though very little of it ; at no time has there been enough

for sleighing.

Wednesday, 15th.—There is a strange story going about the

BAD ROADS. 379
village: it is said that several respectable persons have had
glimpses of a panther in our hills during the last two months!
Probably they have been deceived, for it seems all but incredible
that one of these wild creatures should really have appeared in
our woods. It is between forty and fifty years since any panther
has been heard of in this neighborhood.

Thursday, 16th.—Lovely day; bright air and soft sky. Per-
haps the farmers will prove right about the Indian summer, after
all. The walking is very bad; the late snow and last night’s
rain making a sad muss. Still, those who delight in the open air,
may verify the old proverb: “ Where there is a will there is a
way; one may pick out spots for walking, here and there.

The new-fashioned plank-walks have not yet become general
here ; they are convenient in muddy weather, though very ugly
at other times. The neatest side-walk for a village or rural town
seems to be a strip of brick, or stone pavement, three or four feet
wide, with a broad border of grass on each side, where trees are
planted, such as they have them in some of the Western villages.
The plank roads and walks will probably be introduced here be-
fore long; they will use up an immense amount of timber, and
one would think that this must eventually put a stop to them.
It is said that the hemlock timber, which is used for the purpose,
never attains to any great size in its second growth; such is the
opinion here; whether it be correct or not, I do not know. There
seems no good reason why it should not grow out of the old for-
ests, as well as the pine.

The roads are at their worst just now; the stage-coach was
ten hours yesterday coming the twenty-two miles from the rail-

road. That particular route, however, crossing the hills to the

380 RURAL HOURS.

railway and canal, is the worst in the county. In summer, our
roads are very good; but for two or three weeks, spring and au-
tumn, they are in a terrible state. And yet they have never been
quite so bad as those in the clay soils of the western part of the
State; the year before the railroad was completed between Ge-
neva and Canandaigua, a gentleman of the first village having
business of consequence at the latter town early in the spring,
was anxious to keep his appointment on a particular day, but he
was obliged to give it up; the road, only sixteen miles, was so
bad, that no carriage would take him. He made a particular
application to the stage-coach proprietors; they were very sorry,
but they could not accommodate him; it was quite out of the
question: “We have twelve stage-coaches, at this very moment,

{??

sir, lying in the mud on that piece of road Now we never
heard of a coach being actually left embedded in the mud on this
road of ours, bad as it is; the passengers are often obliged to get
out, and walk over critical spots; the male passengers are often
requested to get out “and hold up the stage for the ladies ;” often
the coach is upset; frequently coach, passengers, and all sink into
the slough to an alarming depth, when rails are taken from the
fences to “pry the stage out;” but, by dint of working with a
good will, what between the efforts of coachman, horses, and pas-
sengers, the whole party generally contrives to reach its destina-
tion, in a better or worse condition, somewhere within eighteen
hours. They sometimes, however, pass the night on the road.
Friday, 17th.—Although the history of this county is so short,
it has yet had several architectural eras, Without including the
Indian wigwam, which has become only a tradition, specimens of

half a dozen different styles are seen among us to-day. First in

RURAL ARCHITECTURE. 381

order of time ranks, of course, the log-cabin, such as are still
seen to-day in the hills, or on the skirts of the woods: low, sub-
stantial, and rustic; when well put together, and inhabited by
neat and thrifty people, they look very snug and comfortable, and
decidedly picturesque, also. Not long since, we passed one a
few miles from the village, which had as pleasant a cottage look
as possible; it was in excellent order, in a neat little yard, with
flower-borders under the windows, a couple of very fine balsam-
firs before the door, and a row of half a dozen luxuriant hop-vines
just within the fence. Another, near the Red Brook, attracted our
attention more than once, during our summer walks: everything
about it was so snug; the little windows looked bright and clean,
as though they belonged to a Dutch palace; the rose-bushes
standing in the grassy yard were flourishing and luxuriant ; a row
of tin milk-pans were usually glittermg in the sun, and a scythe
hung for several weeks beside the door; it would have made a
pretty sketch. One dark cloudy afternoon, we also passed an-
other of these log-cottages, of the very smallest size ; it was old,
and much out of repair, and stood directly by the road-side, with-
out any yard at all; but everything about it was very neat: a
tub and pails were piled under a little shed at the door, the small
window was bright and well washed, and a clean white curtain
within was half drawn to let in the light upon a table on which
lay a large open Bible, and a pair of spectacles; twice, toward
evening, we chanced to see that little curtain half drawn, to let in
the light upon the Holy Book; doubtless some aged Christian
lived there. The building is now turned into a shed ; we did not
know who lived there, but we never pass it without remembering

the little table and the Bible. Unhappily, all log-cabins have not

382 RURAL HOURS.

such tenants; where the inmates are idle and shiftless, they are
wretched holes, full of disorder and filth.

Next to the log-cabin, in our architectural history, comes its
very opposite, the lank and lean style, the shallow order, which
aimed at rising far above the lowly log-cottage; proud of a tall
front and two stories, proud of twice too many windows, but quite
indifferent to all rules and proportions, to all appearance of com-
fort and snugness ; houses of this kind look as if the winter wind
must blow quite through them. The roof presses directly upon
the upper tier of windows, and looks as though it had been
stretched to meet the walls, scarcely projecting enough, one would
think, for safety, eaves bemg thought a useless luxury ; the win-
dow-frames are as scant as possible, and set on the very surface
of the building, and there is neither porch nor piazza at the door.
Such is the shallow in its simplest form, but it is often seen in a
very elaborate state—and to speak frankly, when this is the case,
what was before ungainly and comfortless in aspect, becomes glar-
ingly ridiculous. In imstances of this kind, we find the shallow-
ornate assuming the Grecian portico, running up sometimes one

wing,

sometimes two; pipe-stem columns one-fiftieth of their
height in diameter, and larger, perhaps, in the centre than at
either extremity, stand trembling beneath a pediment which, pos-
sibly, contains a good-sized bed-room, with a window in the apex.
Such buildmgs are frequently surrounded with a very fanciful
paling of one sort or other. One looks into the barn-yard of such
a house with anxious misgivings, lest the geese should be found
all neck, the cocks all tail, the pigs with longer noses, the ponies
with longer ears than are usually thought becoming.

Succeeding to the common shallow, and coeval with the shal

RURAL ARCHITECTURE. 333

low-ornate, dating perhaps forty years back, appears the plain,
straightforward style, with its square outline, its broader founda-
tions, respectable from a pervading character of honest comfort,
although capable of many improvements. Sometimes houses of
this kind have a wing, sometimes two, but more frequently the
addition is put up with an eye to convenience rather than sym-
metry, anda long, low building, containing the kitchen, wood-shed,
&ec., &., projects from the rear, forming with it, at right angles
with the house, two sides of a yard. These dwellings are seen
in every direction, rather more common, perhaps, than any other,
and where things are in good order about them, they have a
pleasant, cheerful look. This plain, straightforward style has,
however, received a certain development within the last ten years
which, when not carried to extremes, is a progress for the better:
the foundation is broader, the elevation of the building lower, the
roof projects farther, the cornices and all parts of the frame-work
are more substantial, the porch or verandah is in better proportions,
and the whole has a look of more finished workmanship. A farm-
house of this homely, substantial kind, standing beside one of the
common shallow, or a starved Grecian edifice of the shallow-ornate
style, appears to great advantage, and speaks encouragingly for
the growth of common sense and good taste in the community.
Still more recently, however, this substantial school has been
somewhat abused. You see here and there new wooden cottages,
which, in the anxiety of the architect to escape the shallow, err
in the opposite extreme, and look oppressively heavy, as though
the roof must weigh upon the spirits of those it covers. The cor-

nices and door-frames of these small cottages would often suit

384 RURAL HOURS.

buildings of twice their size, and, altogether, they belong to the
ponderous style.

It is amusing, in passing from one hamlet to the other, to observe
how imitative the good people are; for there is generally some
one original genius in every neighborhood who strikes out a new
variation upon one of the styles alluded to, and whether the
novelty be an improvement, or an unsightly oddity, he is pretty
sure of being closely followed by all who build about the same
time. One often sees half a dozen new houses in close neighbor-
hood precisely on the same pattern, however grotesque it may
chance to be. ‘This imitative disposition shows itself also in the
coloring of the houses; for of course here, as elsewhere through-
out the country, they change their colors every few years with
the last coat of paint. Many are white; many others yellow and
orange ; some are red, others brown; green, blue, and pink may
also be found in the county; but these last shades are more rare,
not having taken generally. Two or three years since, black was
the hue of the season, but at present gray is all the fashion. It
is by no means uncommon to find a house under different shades,
front and rear, and I have seen a small farm-house with a differ-
ent color on each of its four walls; yellow, red, brown, and white.
We have also seen red houses with brimstone-colored blinds.
But this Harlequin fancy seems to be subsiding, and as it has al-
ready been observed, sober gray and drabs are the colors in favor
to-day, as though all the houses in the land were turning Quaker.

The “rural Gothic” and “Elizabethan,” which have grown
rapidly into favor about the suburbs of large towns, have scarcely

as yet made any impression here. There are, probably, not more

RURAL ARCHITECTURE. 385

than half a dozen houses of the kind in the whole county. The
rounded, double-pitched roofs, so common in the older parts of
the country, and the shingled walls, also, found so frequently on
old farm-houses of Long Island, New Jersey, and the neighbor-
hood of New York, are very rare here; probably there are not a
dozen double-pitched roofs in the county, and we do not know of
one building with shingled sides.

Certainly there is not much to boast of among us in the way
of architecture as yet, either in town or country; but our rural
buildings are only seen amid the orchards and fields of the farms,
or surrounded by the trees and gardens of the villages, so that
their defects are, perhaps, less striking, relieved, as they gener-
ally are, by an air of thrift and comfort, and softened by the
pleasing features of the surrounding landscape.

Saturday, 18th.—Although the foliage has now entirely fallen,
yet the different kinds of seeds and nuts still hanging on the naked,
branches give them a fuller character than belongs to the depths
of winter. The catkins on the different birches thicken the spray
of these trees very perceptibly ; these are of two sorts, the fer-
tile ones are more full than the sterile heads; both grow to-
gether on the same branch, but in different positions.

There are as many as six kinds of birches growing in this State s
the canoe birch, the largest of all, sometimes seventy feet high,
and three feet in diameter, and which grows as far south as the
Catskills ; the Indians make their canoes of its bark, sewing them
with the fibrous roots of the white spruce. The cherry birch, or
black birch, is also a northern variety, and very common here ; it
is used for cabinet work. Then there is the yellow birch, another

northern variety, and a useful tree. The red birch, also a tree

8386 RURAL HOURS.

of the largest size, is the kind used for brooms. The white birch,
a small tree, is of less value than any other; it is quite com-
mon in our neighborhood ; we have understood, indeed, that all
the birches are found in this county, except the little dwarf birch,
an Alpine shrub, only a foot or so in height.

Monday, 20th.—The potato crop is quite a good one this year,
in our neighborhood, though a portion of it will be lost. But the
disease has never been as fatal here as in some other places, and
the farms of the county have always yielded more than enough
for the population. Some ten years since potatoes sold here for
twelve and a half cents a bushel; since then they have risen at
the worst season to seventy-five cents. 'They have been consid-
ered high at fifty cents for the last year or two, and are now sell-
ing at thirty-one cents a bushel.

Tuesday, 21st.—Again we hear of the panther story. The
creature is said to have been actually seen by two respectable
persons, in the Beaver Meadows ; a woman who was out eather-
ing blackberries saw a large wild animal behind a fallen tree ; she
was startled, and stopped; the animal, which she believed to be
a catamount, got upon the log, and hissed at her like a cat, when
she ranaway. .A man also, who was out with his gun in the woods,
a few days later, near the same spot, saw a large wild creature
in the distance; he fired, and the animal leaped over a great pile
of brush and disappeared. It would be passing strange, indeed,
if a panther were actually roving about our woods. !

Wednesday, 22d.—Very pleasant day. There is still a sprink-
ling of snow in some woods, for the weather has been cool and
dry, but the country generally is quite brown again. The western

hills are entirely free from snow, while those of the eastern range

BUCK WHEAT, 387

are all thmly sprinkled yet. Can this difference be owing to the
greater power of the morning sun ?

Pleasant walk. Stopped at the mill to order samp, or cracked
corn. It is always pleasant ina mill; things look busy, cheer-
ful, and thrifty there. The miller told us that he ground more
Indian corn than anything else; nearly as much buckwheat, and
less wheat than either; scarcely any rye, and no oatmeal at all.
The amount of wheat ground at our mills is no test, however, of
the quantity eaten, for a great deal of wheat flour is brought into
the county from the westward.

They grind buckwheat at the village mill all through the sum-
mer, for a great deal of this flour is eaten here. In most fam-
ilies of the interior buckwheat cakes are a regular breakfast dish
every day through the winter. In many houses they are eaten
in the evening also, and among the farmers they frequently make
part of every meal. This is the only way in which the flour
is used with us—it all takes the form of “ buckwheat cakes.’
The French in the provinces eat galettes of the same flour; they
call it there ble de Sarazin, as though it had been introduced by
the Saracens. It came originally from Central Asia. - Montes-
quieu speaks of these French buckwheat cakes as a very good
thing: “Nos galettes de Sarrazin, humectées toutes brulantes
de ce bon beurre du Mont d’Or etaient, pour nous, le plus frais
regal.”

It appears that the Chinese eat much buckwheat also; they
make it up there in the form of dumplings, and Sir George Staun-
ton speaks of these as a very common dish in China.

Indian corn differs from the buckwheat in being prepared in

many ways by our housewives: we have sapaen, or hasty-pud-

388 RURAL HOURS.

ding ; griddle-cakes, made with eggs and milk; hoe-cake, or In-
dian bread, baked in shallow pans; samp or hominy, corn coarse-
ly broken and boiled; Jonikin, thin, wafer-like sheets, toasted on
a board; these are all eaten at breakfast, with butter. Then we
have the tender young ears, boiled as a vegetable ; or the young
grain mixed with beans, forming the common Indian dish of swe-
cotash ; the kernel is also dried, and then thoroughly boiled for a
winter vegetable. Again, we have also Indian puddings, and
dumplings, and sometimes lighter cakes for more delicate dishes.
The meal is also frequently mixed with wheat in country-made
bread, making it very sweet and nutritious. Besides these differ-
ent ways of cooking the maize, we should not forget parched or
“popped” corn, in which the children delight so much; and a
very nice thing it is when the night kind of corn is used, and the
glossy yellow husk cracks without burning, and the kernel bursts
through pure, and white, and nicely toasted. A great deal of
popped corn is now used in New York and Philadelphia by the
confectioners, who make it up into sugar-plums, like pralines
Acres of ‘popping corn” are now raised near the large towns,
expressly for this purpose; the varieties called rice-corn, and
Egyptian corn, are used, the last kind being a native of this coun-
try, like the others.

The word sapuen has sometimes been supposed of Indian origin.
It is not found in any dictionary that we know of, though in very
common use in some parts of the country. Vanderdonck speaks
of the dish:* “Their common food, and for which their meal is
generally used, is pap, or mush, which in the New Netherlands is
named sapaen. ‘This is so common among the Indians that they

* In 1653.

SAPAEN. 389

seldom pass a day without it, unless they are on a journey, or
huntnmg. We seldom visit an Indian lodge at any time of the
day without seeing their sapaen preparing, or seeing them eating
the same. It is the common food of all; young and old eat it;
and they are so well accustomed to it, and fond of it, that when
they visit our people, or each other, they consider themselves neg-
lected unless they are treated to sapaen.” Maize seems, indeed,
to have been the chief article of food with those Indians, at least,
who lived upon the banks of the Hudson, or in the New Nether-
lands. Vanderdonck, in describing their food, does not, I believe,
once mention the potato, at least not in the parts of his works
which have been translated. He speaks of beans as a favorite
vegetable of theirs, and one of the few they cultivated, planting
them frequently with maize, that the tall stalk of the grain migt
serve as a support to the vine. He observes, they had several
kinds of beans—probably all the native varieties, of which we
have several, were cultivated by them. Squashes he mentioned
as peculiar to them, and called by the Dutch Quaasiens, from a
similar Indian word. Pumpkins were also cultivated by them,
and calabashes, or gourds, which, says he, “are the common wa-
ter-pails of the Indians.” Tobacco is also named as cultivated
by them. But, as we have already observed, in his account of
their field and garden produce, he says nothing of the potato,
which is quite remarkable. The maize, on the contrary, seems to
have been eaten at every meal: “ Without sapaen,” he continues,
“they do not eat a satisfactory meal. And when they have an
opportunity they boil fish or meat with it, but seldom when the
fish or meat is fresh—but when they have the articles dried hard

and pounded fine. * * They also use many dry beans, which

390 RURAL HOURS.

they consider dainties. * * When they intend to go a great
distance on a hunting expedition, or to war, * * they pro-
vide themselves severally with a small bag of parched corn or
meal; * * a quarter of a pound is sufficient for a day’s sub-
sistence. When they are hungry they eat a small handful of the
meal, after which they take a drink of water, and they are so well
fed, that they can travel a day. When they can obtain fish or
meat to eat, then their meal serves them as well as fine bread
would, because it needs no baking.” Speaking of their feasts, he
says: ‘On extraordinary occasions, when they wish to entertain
any person, then they prepare beavers’ tails, bass-heads, with
parched corn-meal, or very fat meat stewed, with shelled chest-
nuts, bruised.” —Not a bad dinner, by any means. ‘Thus we see
that while they relied on the maize in times of scarcity and fatigue,
it made a principal part of their every-day fare, and entered into
their great feasts also; but potatoes do not appear at all.

In using the word sapaen, Vanderdonck leads one to believe it
either a provincialism of the New Netherlands, or an Indian word.
Very possibly it may have been borrowed from the red man, like
the guaasiens or squash. ‘There is, however, a word which cor-
responds to our English sup, to swallow without mastication,
which in Saxon is zupan; the Dutch are said to have a word sim-
ilar to this, and sapaen may prove a provincialism derived from it.
A regular Hollander could probably decide the question for us.
Samp for cracked corn; hominy for grain more coarsely cracked ;
and succotash for beans and maize boiled together, are all consid-
ered as admitted Indian words. Mush is derived from the German
Musse, for pap, and probably has reached us through the Dutch.

Thursday, 238d.—Thanksgiving-day. Lovely weather; beau-

THANKSGIVING DAY. 391

tiful sky for a festival. Pleasant walk. As we came back to the
village the bells were ringing, and the good people, in their Sunday
attire, were going in different directions to attend public worship,
Many shop-windows were half open, however; one eye closed in
devotion as it were, the other looking to the main chance.

This is a great day for gathermgs of kith and kin, throughout
the country ; and many a table stands at this moment loaded with
good things, for family guests and old family friends to make
merry, and partake of the good cheer together. Few households
where something especially nice is not provided for Thanksgiving
dinner ; for even the very poor, if known to be in want, generally
receive something good from larders better filled than their own.

It was one of the good deeds of the old Puritans, this revival
of a Thanksgiving festival ; it is true, they are suspected of favor-
ing the custom all the more from their opposition to Christmas ;
but we ought not to quarrel with any one Thankseiving-day, much
less with those who have been the means of adding another
pleasant, pious festival to our calendar ; so we will, if you please,
place the pumpkin-pie at the head of the table to-day.

Surely no people have greater cause than ourselves for public
thanksgivings, of the nature of that we celebrate to-day. We
have literally, from generation to generation, “eaten our bread
without scarceness.” Famine, to us, has been an unknown evil;
that fearful scourge—one of the heaviest that can fall upon a na-
tion, accompanied, as it is, by a long train of ghastly woes—that
scourge has never yet been laid upon us; the gloomy anxiety of
its first approaches, the enfeebled body, the wasting energies, the

bitterness of spirit, the anguish of heart which attend its course,

_ these have caused us to weep for our fellow-beings, but never yet

a Pn a ll Rf ea

MR Gee ioe

392 RURAL HOURS.

for ourselves ; the general distress, dismay, confusion, and suffer-
ing—the excess of misery—which follow its paralyzing progress
through a country, are only known to us as evils which our fellow-
men have suffered, and from which we, and those we love most
warmly, have ever been graciously spared. Year after year, from
the early history of the country, the land has yielded her
increase in cheerful abundance; the fields have been filled with
the finest of wheat, and maize, and rice, and sugar; the orchards
and gardens, ay, the very woods and wastes, have yielded all
their harvest of grateful fruits; the herds have fed in peace within
a thousand quiet valleys, the flocks have whitened ten thousand
green and swelling hills; like the ancient people of God, we may
say, that fountains of milk and honey have flowed in upon us ;
the humming of the cheerful bee is heard through the long sum-
mer day about every path, and at eventide the patient kine, yield-
ing their nourishing treasure, stand lowing at every door.

General scarcity in anything needful has been unknown among
us; now and then the failure of some particular crop has been
foretold by the fearful, but even this partial evil has been averted, .
and the prognostic has passed away, leaving no trace, like the gray
cloud overshadowing but for an instant the yellow harvest-field,
and followed by the genial glow of the full summer sunshine. In
this highland valley we often hear fears expressed of this or that
portion of the produce being cut off by the frosts belonging to our
climate ; now we are concerned for the maize, now for our stock
of fruits, and yet how seldom has the dreaded evil befallen us!
What good thing belonging to the climate has ever wholly failed ;
when have we wanted for maize, when have we suffered from lack

of fruit? Every summer, currants have dried on the bushes,

THANKSGIVING DAY. 393

apples have lain rotting on the grass, strawberries have filled the
meadows, raspberries and blackberries have grown in every thicket,
while the richer fruits of warmer climates, oranges, and peaches,
and water-melons, have been selling for copper in our streets.

The only approach to anything like scarcity known here since
the full settlement of the county, occurred some ten years since ;
but it was owing to no failure of the crops, no ungenial season, no
untimely frost. During the summer of 1838, wheat-flour became
scarce in the country, and all that could be procured here was
of a very indifferent quality—-grown wheat, such as we had never
eaten before. It was during the period of infatuation of Western
speculation, when many farmers had left their fields untilled, while
they followed the speculating horde westward. At that moment,
many houses m the county were seen deserted ; some closed,
others actually fallmg to ruin, and whole farms were lying
waste, while their owners were running madly after wealth in the
wilds of Michigan and Wisconsin. ‘The same state of things was
general throughout the country, and, united to speculations in
wheat, was the occasion of a temporary difficulty. As yet, this
has been the only occasion when anything like scarcity has been
felt here.

Well, indeed, does it become us to render thanks for mercies so
great, wholly unmerited as they are. As we pass from valley to
valley, from one range of highlands to another, from broad and
heaving plains to plains still broader, from the fresh waters of
great rivers and inland seas to the salt waves of the ocean, every-
where, on either hand, the bounties of Providence fill the land ;
the earth is teeming with the richest of blessings. And yet, in

what part of this broad land, from one utmost verge to the other,
17*

394 RURAL HOURS.

shall we find the. community that may justly claim the favor of
the God of truth and holiness? Which great city, which busy
town, what quiet village, what secluded hamlet, has deserved the
blessing of Heaven on its fields ? What city, or borough, or vil-
lage; or hamlet, can say: ‘There is no sin here, there is no fraud,
no deceit, no treachery, no drunkenness ; no violence, rioting, im-
purity ; no envy, no covetousness, no injustice, no slander, no
falsehood, no insubordination among us ; none of those evils declared
hateful in the eyes of the God we worship, are going to and fro in
our streets, upon our highways, sittmg down and rising up unre-
buked and unrepented of—these things are unknown here—we are
wholly clean!’ The heart recoils from the very idea of such
presumption, and we bow our heads to the dust in deep acknowl-
edgment of our unworthiness, as individuals, as communities, as a
nation. “ What is man that Thou visitest him, or the son of man,
that Thou so regardest him !”’

Happy, indeed, is it for the children of men, that the long-suf-
fering God sendeth his rain upon the-fields of the just and the
unjust, and maketh his sun to shine upon the garden of the
sinner with that of the righteous. Well, indeed, does it become
us to render heartfelt, humble thanks to the God “who feedeth
all flesh; for his mercy endureth forever.”

It may prove of some interest to pause a moment and look
back at the Jewish festivals of thanksgiving for the fruits of the
earth, whence our own has been derived. It is, indeed, remark-
able, that while the Jewish law was, in its general character, se-
vere and stern, as compared with the milder and more merciful
nature of Christianity, its worship gave such full and frequent

expression to the beautiful spirit of thankfulness, The faithful

THANKSGIVING DAY. 395

Jew, obedient to the ritual of his church, would scarcely be guilty
of the sin of ingratitude; just as it is difficult that the Christian,
who, at the present hour, faithfully keeps the higher festivals of
the Church, should be thankless and forgetful of a/Z the mercies
of his Almighty Father.

In the Jewish Church there were, besides the weekly Sabbaths
and other lesser festivals, three great feasts of chief importance,
the Passover, Pentecost, and the Feast of Tabernacles. At each
return of these, every male among the Twelve ‘Tribes was com-
manded to go up to Jerusalem, and there to worship Jehovah.
The women were allowed to accompany them, and were often in
the habit of going, as we learn from Scripture history; but the
journey was not obligatory with them. It is easy to see the
many advantages that must have resulted to the different tribes
from this general mtercourse, hallowed by duty and religious ser-
vices as it was. The Passover, as we all know, commemorated
the deliverance of the Jews on that fearful night in Egypt, when
“there was not a house where there was not one dead ;” but like
all the greater pomts in the Jewish ritual, it was also typical and
prophetic in character, foreshadowing the salvation of the Christian
Church by the death of the true Paschal Lamb, our Blessed
Lord, who was sacrificed at that festival some sixteen centuries
after its institution. For us, therefore, the Passover has become
Easter.

The second great festival of the Jews was called by them the
“Feast of Weeks,” because it was kept seven weeks after the
Passover; and from its following on the fiftieth day from that
feast, it has received the more modern name of Pentecost. To

the Jews it commemorated the proclamation of the Law on Mount

396 RURAL HOURS

Sinai, an event which took place fifty days after their departure
from Egypt. To the Christian Church this has also been a high
festival, for on that day took place the miraculous outpouring of
the Holy Spirit upon the Church at Jerusalem, as recorded in
the Acts. And this is the Whitsunday of our own Calendar.
-The third great festival, the Feast of Tabernacles, was entirely
Jewish, and peculiar to themselves. As the Passover occurred
in spring, Pentecost in summer, so the Feast of Tabernacles was
held in the autumn. On some accounts, it was the most import-
ant of all their festivals ; it fell during the seventh month of their
ecclesiastical year, which commenced at the Passover; but this
was also the first month of their civil year, answering to our
October, and a period of peculiar importance for the number of
religious observances which fell during its course. The first of
this month was their New-Year’s day, and kept by a very singu-
lar custom, the priests blowing a solemn blast on the trumpets,
whence it was called the Feast of Trumpets, and they believed,
on traditional authority, that the world was created at this season.
Ten days after the Feast of Trumpets followed the great national
fast, or day of atonement. But it was the third week of the
same month that concluded the greater festivals of the year by
. the Feast of Tabernacles, one of their most peculiar and most
joyous celebrations. They were enjomed to live in booths for a
week, to remind them of the tents of their ancestors, wanderers
in the wilderness for forty years. These booths, or tents, or tab-
ernacles—for such is the import of the latter word—were ordered
to be made of branches ‘ with boughs of goodly trees, branches
of palm-trees, and boughs of thick trees, and willows of the brook.”

But while thus commemorating the poverty and hardships of

THANKSGIVING DAY. 397

their ancestors in the wilderness, they were also enjomed, at the
same time, to “rejoice before the Lord their God,” and celebrate
his infinite mercies to an unworthy race by especial thanksgivings.
The last, or eighth day of the celebration, “that great day of the
feast,” as St. John calls it, was particularly devoted to thanks-

?

givings for the “in-gathermg” of the fruits of the earth. This
was, indeed, the great harvest-home of Judea.

Each of these three greater festivals to which we have particu-
larly alluded, the Passover, Pentecost, and the Feast of Taber-
nacles, independently of other associations, had also a connection
with the mercies of God, in bestowing upon man the fruits of the
earth. Their harvest was solemnly commenced the day after
the Passover by a peculiar religious observance: three sheaves of
barley were gathered in three different fields of the territory of
Jerusalem, and carried to the temple, where they were threshed
in the court, and were then solemnly offered to the Lord by the
priest, in the name of the nation. This ceremony was enjoined
in Leviticus, and before it had been performed, no man was al-
lowed to put the sickle to his barley, the first grain reaped. At
Pentecost again, when the wheat harvest was over, two loaves
were offered in the temple by the priest, in the name of the na-
tion. And the Feast of Tabernacles, as we’ have already seen,
concluded with especial offerings and sacrifices, and thanksgivings
for the great national harvest, now fully completed.

But independently of these general public observances, there
were others enjoined upon the Jews of a private nature. Every
one was commanded to offer personally the first-fruits of his own
portion to the Lord. The women, when making the bread of the

family, set apart a portion for the Levite, which was considered

398 ven RURAL HOURS.

®

as an offering to the Lord, the priests having no lands or harvests
of their own. The fortieth or sixtieth portion of the dough knead-
ed at the time was reserved for this purpose. And then, again,
the first-fruits of every private harvest, not only of the grain, but
of the fruits also, were offered at the temple with a solemn and
very touching ceremony. The time for this private observance,
and the amount offered, were left to the judgment of each indi-
vidual. For this purpose, the Jews, at the conclusion of their
harvests, used to collect in little parties from the same neighbor-
hood, four to twenty persons together. They were preceded by
an ox appointed for sacrifice, with a crown of olives on his head,
and his horns gilded, with a player on the flute before him; and
thus they walked in company to Jerusalem. The cfferings were
carried in baskets, and consisted of wheat, barley, grapes, figs,
apricots, olives, and dates. from the fortieth to the sixtieth of
the crop was offered. Each one bore his own basket; those of
the rich were made of gold, those of the poor of wicker-work.
When they arrived at J erusalem, their friends came out to meet
them. On reaching the temple, every man, the king himself, if
he were there, took his basket on his shoulder and carried it into
the court, where the Levites received the party, singing the xxx.
Psalm: “I will extol Thee, O Lord,” &c., &c. After this, the
form and ceremony enjoined in Deuteronomy were complied
with :

« And it shall be, when thou art come into the land which the
Lord thy God giveth thee for an inheritance, and possessest it,
and dwellest therein, that thou shalt take of the first of all the
fruit of the earth, which thou shalt bring of thy land that the

Lord thy God giveth thee, and shalt put it im a basket, and

THANKSGIVING DAY. 899

shalt go unto the place which the Lord thy God shalt choose to
place his name there.

“ And thou shalt go unto the priest that shall be in those days,
. and say unto him: ‘T profess this day unto the Lord thy God,
that I am come unto the country which the Lord sware unto our
fathers for to give us.’

« And the priest shall take the basket out of thine hand, and
set it down before the altar of the Lord thy God.

« And thou shalt speak and say before the Lord thy God, «A
Syrian ready to perish was my father, and he went down into
Egypt, and sojourned there with a few, and became there a na-
tion, great, mighty, and populous ;’

«And the Egyptians evil entreated us, and aftlicted us, and
laid upon us hard bondage.

««<« And when we cried unto the Lord God of our fathers, the
Lord heard our voice, and looked on our afflictions, and our labor,
and our oppression :

«¢ And the Lord brought us forth out of Egypt with a mighty
hand, and with an outstretched arm, and with great terribleness,
and with signs, and with wonders:

«¢« And he hath brought us into this place, and hath given us
this land, even a land that floweth with milk and honey.

«<« And now, behold, I have brought the first-fruits of the land
which thou, O Lord, hast given me.’

“ And thou shalt set it before the Lord thy God, and worship
before the Lord thy God. |

«And thou shalt rejoice in every good thing which the Lord
thy God hath given unto thee, and unto thine house ; thou, and the

Levite, and the stranger that is among you.”’—Deut. xxvi., 1-11.

400 ‘RURAL HOURS.

A beautiful ceremony, indeed. Thus we see how full of this
acknowledgment of the mercies of God in feeding his people, was
the Jewish ritual. The Christian, in the same spirit of constant
dependence upon Almighty Providence for life of body and soul,
has also been taught by Divine authority, whether rich or poor,
humbly to pray for the boon of his daily bread.

Friday, 24th.—Kivening ; 9 o'clock. The lake has been very
eatin all day. In the morning, light gleaming blue; soft and
still in the afternoon, sweetly colored by reflections of the hills
and sky; and this evening it is quite illuminated by an unusual
number of fishing lights, moving slowly under the shores and across
the little bays.

Saturday, 25th.—Looking over the country from a height, now
that the leaves have fallen, we found the fences attracting our
attention. ‘They are chiefly of wood in our neighborhood ; zig-zag
enclosures of rails, or worm-fences, as they are called. We have but
few stone walls here ; stump-fences are not uncommon. The rails
used for the worm-fences are often of chestnut, which is consider-
ed the best wood for the purpose. Foreigners from the Continent
of Europe uswally quarrel with our fences, and perhaps they are
right; they look upon this custom as a great and needless waste
of wood. ‘They say they are ugly in themselves, and that an
open country, well cultivated, but free from these lines, gives the

idea of a higher state of civilization, than lands where every half

dozen acres are guarded by enclosures. General Lafayette, when
sitting in his tower at Lagrange, in the midst of his fine farms of
Brie, used to say that he could not like our fences, and thought
we should yet learn to do without them; he believed the cost of

the wood, and the trouble and expense of putting them up and

FENCES. 401

ee

keeping them in order, might be disposed of to greater advantage
in other ways. Hedges, it is to be feared, will never suit our
climate—in this State, at least—unless it be our own evergreen
shrubs. The hemlock is now coming into use for this purpose,
in some neighborhoods. As regards appearances, hedges, close
at hand, are very pleasing; but at a little distance, they are
scarcely an improvement upon the fence: they are still dark, stiff
lines, crossing the country with a net-work of enclosures. Proba-
bly we might at least do with much less fencing in this country ;
it often strikes one that fields are unnecessarily cut up in this way.

Monday, 27th.—There is an insect very common in the lower
parts of the State, which we never see here: the ball-rolling beetle,
so much resembling the sacred scarabzeus of the Egyptians. One
observes them on all the roads about New York and on Long Isl-
and, but we have never yet seen them in this county. If they
exist here at all, they must be very rare. The sacred beetle of
the Egyptians is said to have been rather larger than our insect
of the same kind.

Tuesday, 28th.—Very pleasant, mild weather. Charming to-
day ; walking excellent. The farmers were night: we have had
very pleasant weather after those cold days early in the month.

Wednesday, 29th.—Very pleasant; observed gnats in some
places this afternoon.

Thursday, 30th.—Pleasant. Long walk in the bare, open

woods; neither heard nor saw a bird.

** Le bocage était sans mystére

Le rossignol était sans voix.”

The long yellow petals have fallen from the wych-hazel; the

402 RURAL HOURS.

nut is beginning to form, the heart slowly becoming a kernel, and
the small yellow flower-cups turning gradually into the husk. On
some bushes, these little cups are still yellow and flower-like ; on
others, they have quite a husky look. It takes these shrubs a
full year to bring their fruit to maturity.

The green wheat-fields look vivid and bright lying about the
gray farms. The lake is deep blue just now; it seems to be more
deeply blue in the autumn than at other seasons; to-day, it is
many shades darker than the sky, almost as blue as the water in

Guido’s Aurora.

WINTER.

December, Friday, 1st.—Again we hear strange rumors of the
panther. The creature is now reported to have been in Oak-
dale, having crossed the valley from the Black Hills. We hear
that a man went out of afarm-house, about dusk, to pick up chips
from a pile of freshly-cut wood at no great distance, and while
there, he saw among the wood a wild animal, the like of which
he had never seen before, and which he believed to be a cata-
mount; its eyes glared upon him, and it showed its teeth, with a
hissing kind of noise. This man gave the alarm, and for several
nights the animal was heard in that neighborhood ; it was tracked
to a swamp, where a party of men followed it, but although they
heard its cries, and saw its tracks, the ground was so marshy, that
they did not succeed in coming up with it. Such is the story
from Oakdale. Strange as the tale seems, there is nothing abso-
lutely incredible in it, for wild animals will occasionally stray to
a great distance from their usual haunts. About fifteen years
since, a bear was killed on the Mohawk, some thirty miles from
us. And so late as five-and-forty years ago, there was an alarm
about a panther in West Chester, only twenty or thirty miles
from NewYork!

Numbers of these animals are still found in the State, particu-

1arly in the northern mountainous counties. They are also occa-

404. RURAL HOURS.

sionally seen to the southward among the Catskills, where they
were formerly so numerous as to have given a name to the stream,
and the mountains whence it flows. The Dutch called this creature
« Het Cat,” or “ Het Catlos,” which, says Judge Benson, was “also
their name for the domestic cat.” Kater is the male; but in the
Benson Memoir, the word is not spelt with the double a, Kacters-
lull, as we frequently see it now-a-days, when few of us speak
Dutch. Catskill, or Katerskill, however, would appear to be
equally correct, and the last has the merit of greater peculiarity.
The old Hollanders had very formidable ideas of these animals,
which they believed at first to be lions, from their skins, and the
representations of the Indians. ‘Their color is tawny, or reddish
gray. When young, they are spotted; but these marks are sup-
posed to disappear when the animal sheds its hair for the first
time. The tail is darker at the extremity; the ears are blackish
without, light within. The largest panther preserved among us
is found in the Museum of Utica, and was killed by a hunter
in Herkimer county; it measured eleven feet three inches in
length. ‘Their usual length is from seven to ten feet.*

They are said generally to frequent ledges of rocks inaccessible
to man, and called panther ledges by the hunters; but they will
often wander far for food. They are decidedly nocturnal, and
rarely move by daylight. They prey upon deer, and all the lesser
quadrupeds. They seem rather shy of man in general, but are very
capable of destroymg him when aroused. An instance of a very
fierce attack from a panther is given in the Penny Magazine ; and a
man was killed by a “ catamount,” in this county, some fifty years

ago. It is now more than forty years since any animal of the

* Dr. De Kay’s Zoology of New York.

THE PANTHER. 405

kind has been heard of in our part of the country, until within
these last few weeks. Probably, if this creature prove really to
be a panther, it has strayed from the Catskills.

Saturday, 2d.—Very mild. Unusually dark at eight o’clock.
High wind, with heavy, spring-like showers, About noon the
sky cleared, and the afternoon was delightful, with a high south-
west wind, and a bright sky. A high wind is very pleasant now
and then, more especially where such are not common. This
evening we enjoyed the breeze very much, as it flew rustling
through the naked branches, tossing the evergreen limbs of old
pines and hemlocks, and driving bright clouds rapidly across the
heavens. Despite the colorless face of the country, everything
looked cheerful, as though the earth were sailing on a prosperous
voyage before a fresh, fair breeze.

The sun has nearly reached his journey’s end. There is a low
ridge sloping away into the valley, about half a mile to the south
of us, over which he passes completely in his annual voyage.
Every clear winter’s evening there is a glowing sky beyond it,
against which the old pies, with their dark and giant forms, look
grandly, adding, as they do, perhaps, a hundred feet to the
height. The sun has nearly cleared this pomt now, and as he
turns northward immediately after passing over it, the height is
called Sunset Hill in the village.

Monday, 4th. Charming day. Light sprinkling of snow in
the night; but it has already disappeared. The grass on the
lawn is quite green again. <A light fall of snow, without a hard
frost, always brightens the grass, perhaps more even than a spring
shower. It often snows here without freezing.

Tuesday, 5th.— Rainy day; but not at all cold.

406 RURAL HOURS.

* Among the interesting birds of this part of the world, there
are a number which, though not often seen in our State, are yet
occasional visitors, or else resident here in very small numbers. ‘The
noble wild turkey, for instance, is still found in small parties in
the wilds of Sullivan, Orange, and Rockland counties, and also
farther westward, in Alleghany and Cattaraugus ; formerly it was
known in large flocks from Mexico to Canada.

The fine, peculiar, Pinnated Grouse, though rapidly disappear-
ing’, is stil] seen in very small parties in Orange county.

The Mocking-bird is found on Long Island and in Rockland
county. This bird, indeed, is said.to range from 25° south of the
equator, to 44 north. They are rare in our State, however,
though a few arrive in the lower counties toward the last of
May.

The brilliant Cardinal Grosbeak, with his scarlet coat, breeds in
our State, and is said to be found in a county adjoining our

own.

* We are none of us very knowing about the birds in this country, unless it be
those scientific gentlemen who have devoted their attention especially to such
subjects. The same remark applies in some measure to our native trees and
plants ; to our butterflies and insects. But little attention has yet been given by
our people generally, to these subjects. In Europe such is not the case ; many
persons there, among the different classes of society, are familiar with these sim-
ple matters. Had works of this kind been as common in America as they are in
England, the volume now in the reader’s hands would not have been printed, and
many observations found in its pages would have been unnecessary. But
such as it is, written by a learner only, the book is offered to those whose inter-
est in rural subjects has been awakened, a sort of rustic primer, which may lead
them, if they choose, to something higher.

If it will not be considered an assumption of importanco, in a volume of the chit-
chat, common-place character of that now before the reader, the writer will ven-
ture to express her thanks to Dr. De Kay and Mr. Downing, not only for their
published works, but also for their kindness in directing her course on several oc-
casions.

Pi J

RARE BIRDS 407

——

The equally brilliant Scarlet Tanager, or black-winged red-bird,
as it is familiarly called, is found in the lower counties, though not
numerous.

The summer Red-bird, also, quite a tropical bird, is occasionally
seen near New York; we once chanced to meet quite a flock of
them on Long Island.

The Blue Grosbeak, and the Rose-breasted Grosbeak, both
handsome birds, are also found in the State.

The Crossbills, again, are seen in our northern counties.

The Cuckoo of this part of the world is interesting from the as-
sociations connected with the cry of the same bird in Europe—and,
indeed, in Asia also—it is everywhere in the Old World looked
upon as a harbinger of spring. The oldest song in the English
language, said to date as far back as 1250, has a refrain in honor
of this bird:

‘* Sumer is yeumen in ;
Lhude sing cuccu ;
Groweth sed, and bloweth med,
And springeth the wde nu:
Sing cuccu !
Awe bleteth after lomb:
Lhouth after calve cu ;
Merrie sing cuccu,
Cuccu, cuccu !

Wel singes thou cuccu,

Ne swik thee nauer.”
The Chinese call it by much the same name as the Europeans.
And so did the ancient Greeks. We have the bird, but it attracts
with us comparatively little attention; the robins, and blue-
birds, and song-sparrows, are much more thought of; they arrive

earlier, and are more common. The American cuckoo is much better

408 RURAL HOURS.

behaved than his brother of the Old World; he has no naughty
habits ; he builds a nest of his own, and he is very faithful to his
wife and children. Our cuckoos are of two kinds, the yellow-
billed and the black-billed; both differ slightly from that of Eu:
rope. ‘They arrive in May, and pass the summer with us. Their
nests are said to be rather carelessly built, as though they had
not thoroughly learned the art.

It is singular, that while the cuckoo of this part of the world
pairs and builds its own nest, like most of its tribe, we have
another bird who has the careless, reckless habits of the European
cuckoo. It is well known that our cow-pen black-bird lays her
egos in the nests of other birds ; and it is remarked that she gen-
erally chooses the nest of those much smaller than herself, like
the summer yellow-bird, the blue-bird, song-sparrow, among our
nicest and best-behaved birds. One might almost fancy, that like
some unhappy women who have trifled with their own characters,
the cow-bird is anxious that her daughters should be better be-
haved than herself, for she is careful to choose them the best fos-
ter-mothers ; happily, such a course has often succeeded with hu-
man mothers, but with the bird it seems to fail. There is ‘no
such thing as reformation among them.

Wednesday, 6th.—Mild rain again. We have a word or two
more to say about our rare birds, or at least those which are less
common than our every-day flocks. Among these are a number
besides the cuckoo, in which we feel an interest, chiefly on account
of their European associations,

Let us begin with the chattering Magpie—“ la gazza Ladra”—
whose naughty tricks, and noisy tongue, are well known to us by

reputation at least. They are very rare indeed in this State, but

OO MOND

A ee ‘2AIOCH I P17 ek

EEL IL ILL tl WAG) IAL al

THE MAGPIE AND THE FALCON aye

a few are occasionally seen near Niagara; strange ground, indeed,

for such vapid, thoughtless birds. ‘There is said to be a natural

antipathy between the blue-jay and the magpie, just as two great
human talkers are apt to dislike each other, and keep out of each
other’s way; these two birds, at least, are observed rarely to fre-
quent the same region. The American magpie is more common
west of the Mississippi, but even there it is much more rare than
in Europe. It closely resembles that of Europe.

The Falcon is another bird of note, from its old feudal associa-
tions ; and strange as it may appear, the Duck-hawk of this part
of the world is no other than the full brother of the famous Per-
egrine Falcon of Europe. It is said to be only the older birds
which wander about, and as they live to a great age, some of
them have been noted travellers. In 1793, a hawk of this kind
was caught at the Cape of Good Hope, with a collar bearing the
date of 1610, and the name of King James of England; so that
it must have been at least 183 years old, and have travelled thou-
sands of miles. Another, belonging to Henri IL. of France, flew
away from Fontainebleau one day, and was caught at Malta, the
next morning. The male bird is smaller and less powerful than
the female, as frequently happens with birds of prey; it was
called, on that account, a Tiercel,—a third,—and caught partridges
and small birds. It was the larger female who pursued the hare,
the kite, and the crane. These birds will not submit to be en-
slaved ; they never breed in a domestic state, and the stock was
replaced by taking new birds captive. Hawking is said to have
been derived from Asia,—where it is still pursued, in Persia,
and China.

Other kinds, besides the Peregrine Falcon, were trained for
18

- a ————
Le ee

410 RURAL HOURS.

sport; the Gyrfalcon, for instance, an extreme northern bird,
taken in Iceland, whence they were sent to the King of Denmark ;
a thousand pounds were given for a “cast” of these hawks, in
the reign of James the First. Mr. Nuttall says that occasionally
a pair of Gyrfalcons are seen in the Northern States, but they are
very rare. The Duck-hawk, or Peregrine Falcon, is chiefly found
on the coast, where it makes great havoc among the wild ducks,
and even attacks the wild geese. The Gyrfalcon is two feet long ;
the Peregrine Falcon of this country twenty inches, which is
rather larger than that of Europe. We have also the Goshawk,
another esteemed bird of sport, of the same tribe; it 1s rare here,
and is larger than that of Europe. The Gyrfalcon and the Per-
egrine Falcon are birds that never touch carrion, feeding only
on their own prey; these belonged to Falconry proper, which
was considered the nobler branch of the sport. Among the birds
used for Hawking, strictly speaking, were the Goshawk, the Spar-
row-hawk, the Buzzard, and the Harpy.

The Cormorant is another bird of which we have all heard a
great deal, without, perhaps, having a very clear idea regarding
it. They are uncouth, aquatic birds, of the largest size—about
three feet in length—very expert fishers and divers, and voracious
feeders. In England, they formerly used them for fishing, and
the Chinese still do so. hey are found on our coast, though
rather rare; a few breed in Boston Bay. The double-crested
Cormorant is the most common on our coast.

The Pelican, again, is allied to the Cormorant, though distin-
guished from most other birds by their extraordinary pouch con-
nected with the gullet. There are two kinds: the large White,

and the Brown Pelican. They are scattered all over the world.

THE PELICAN AND THE WILD SWAN. 411

The White is the largest of all water-fowls, about six feet in length.
They are common in the South of Europe, particularly on the
Danube, and also throughout Judea, Egypt, d&c., &e. They fre-
quent alike the sea-shore and rivers. These birds were formerly
common on the Hudson and the inland lakes of our own State,
and it is quite probable they have been seen in these very waters
of ours; but they have now entirely disappeared. They are rare
everywhere in the Union, except in Louisiana and Missouri. They
are partial to the eddies about waterfalls. It is said that they
live to a great age. They are capable of carrying twelve quarts
of water in their pouch! The Brown Pelican is still an occasional
visitor on the sea-shore of Long Island; farther south, it is very
common. It is asmaller bird than the White, measuring four feet
in length.

Wild Swans are still found in the secluded northern lakes of
this State, where they remain the whole year round. Large
flocks, however, come from still farther north, and winter in the
Chesapeake. They havea whistle, which distinguishes them from
the mute species, which is much the most graceful. The Ice-
landers are very partial to the whistle of the wild swan, perhaps
because they associate it with the sprmg; and Mr. Nuttall sup-
poses that it was this note of theirs which led to the classic fancy
of the song of the dying Swan. These birds are widely spread
over Europe and America, though our own variety differs slightly
from that of the Old World.

The Eider-Duck is another celebrated fowl with which we have
a passing acquaintance in this State. In very severe winters, a

few find their way from the northward, as far as the coast of

Long Island. They breed from Maine, north. They are hand-

412 RURAL HOURS.

some birds, with much white in their plumage, and are very gen-
tle and familiar. Dr. De Kay thinks they might easily be do-
mesticated in this part of the country. The female plucks the
down from her own breast, for the purpose of making a soft nest
for her young; but after she has laid a number of eggs, these
and the down are both removed, the eggs being very palatable.
The patient creature then re-lines her nest with the last down on
her breast, and lays a few more eggs; again both down and eggs
are taken by greedy man; the poor mother has now no more
down to give, so the male bird steps forward, and the nest is
lined a third time. Two or three eggs are then laid, and the
poor creatures are permitted to raise these—not from any kindly
feeling, but to lure them back to the same spot again the fol-
lowing year, for they like to haunt familiar ground. Their nests
are made of sea-weed and moss; Mr. Audubon saw many of
them in Labrador. When the young are hatched, the mother
frequently carries them on her back to the water; and when
they are once afloat, none of them return permanently to the
land that season. ‘The down is so very elastic, that a ball of it
held in the hand will expand and fill a foot-covering for a large
bed. It is always taken from the live birds, if possible, that from
the dead bird being much less elastic; and for this reason, they
are seldom killed.

“here are still two or three birds of old European fame, or
otherwise interesting, found occasionally in our neighborhood ; to
these we must give a word or two when we have leisure.

Wednesday, 6th.— Green and reddish leaves are yet hanging
on the scarlet honeysuckles, the Greville and Scotch roses; and

a few are also left on the little weeping-willow.

LOCUST-PODS. A183

The locust-trees are, as usual, full of brown pods; one of the
handsomest in the village, a fine tree in size and form, might be
supposed in withered leaf at a little distance, every branch and
twig being loaded with pods. A drawing, taken at this moment,
would give the idea of a tree in leaf. What a luxuriant mass of
flowers it must have borne last June! A good portion of these
pods will remain on the tree all winter, for they fall very reluc-
tantly ; and occasionally these old rusty shreds of a past year are
found among the fresh summer blossoms. They have certainly
no beauty, and yet they are rather pleasing in winter, reminding
one of the flowers the tree has borne. The pods of the Acacia,
frequently called the Honey-locust, are handsome and very large,
though the flower itself is insignificant: they are of a rich glossy
brown, with a spiral, curling turn, and twelve or fifteen inches
long; there are few on the tree, however, compared with the
common locust, and they fall early. The birds do not seem to
eat the seed in these pods, which is a pity; they would be a fine
winter harvest for them about the villages.

The old brown chestnut-burs tipping the naked twigs here and
there, the black shell of the hickory, also the open husk of the
small beech-nut dotting the trees, the swinging balls of the sye-
amore, the scaly tufts on birch and alder, though dull and out
of season, are also pleasing from association, and though claiming
little beauty m themselves, vary the naked branches agreeably.

A flock of wild ducks flew over the village to the lake, the only
birds we have seen for a fortnight.

Thursday, Tth.—Mild rain again, with dark, dull sky.

Friday, 8th.—Very mild, and cloudy, but without rain. In-

deed, it is almost warm; people are complaining of lassitude, the

414 RURAL HOURS.

air quite oppressive, and thermometer at 64. The grass quite green
again, in patches ; cows feeding in some pastures.

Saturday, 9th.—Still same mild weather, with dark skies.

A large flock of tree-sparrows about the house this morning.
These birds come from the far north to winter here ; they are not
so common with us, however, as the snow-bird and the chicadee.
The little creatures were looking for seeds and insects among the
bushes and on the ground, and they seemed to pick up glean-
ings here and there. Though constantly fluttering about among
the honeysuckles, they passed the berries without tasting them ;
and often, when birds have been flitting about in autumn when the
fruit of the honeysuckle looked bright and tempting, I have ob-
served that it was left untouched. ‘The birds do not like it. The
blueberries of the Virginia creeper, on the contrary, are favorite
food with many birds, though poisonous to man.

The tree-sparrow is one of the largest and handsomest of its
tribe, its head being marked with a brighter bay than others.
Upon its breast is a dark spot, as though it bore its escutcheon
there. When it first arrives m November, it has a pleasant, low
warble, and it may very possibly sing well in its summer haunts.
But our sparrows generally are not musical birds; the song-spar-
row is the most marked exception. ,

This dull, cheerless winter day, while watching the sparrows
searching for food among the bare and naked branches, and on
the brown, cold earth, I was strongly impressed with the recol-
lection that these little creatures were chosen by their Maker to
teach us a most important lesson. The passage m the Holy Gos-
pel in which they have a place is very remarkable, and is given

to us by St. Matthew and St. Luke. The Evangelists tell us that

TREE-SPARROWS. 415

a ereat multitude of people were collected, and our blessed Lord
was pleased to address his disciples in their hearing. <A caution
against hypocrisy was given, followed by a most solemn injunction
to fear God, and not man.

“But I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear him which,

after he hath killed, hath power to cast into hell; yea, I say unto :

you, ear him. Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings ? and
not one of them is forgotten before God. But even the very hairs
of your head are all numbered. Feay not, therefore, ye are of
more value than many sparrows.” Such is the passage in the
Gospel of St. Luke.

In the Gospel of St. Matthew the same incident is thus re-
lated :

“And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to
kill the soul, but rather fear him which is able to destroy both
soul and body in hell. Ave not two sparrows sold for one farthing 2
and one of them shall not fall to the ground without your Father.
But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not,
therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.”

What a sublime view does it give us of the providence of God,

that not one of these little birds should fall to the ground un-
known to the Almighty Creator, that each one of these little
creatures, the humblest and most insignificant of their race, is
heeded and remembered before God! This revelation of the direct
nature of Divine Providence is, indeed, most precious and consol-
ing ; it is impossible to possess a stronger assurance of the mercy,
and wisdom, and power of God, as exercised toward us, than is

given in these words of our Redeemer ; and there is no other pas-

sage on this subject in Holy Scripture so full and clear, It |

a a ee

Sn nt ea ee

416 RURAL HOURS

is one of the most extravagant follies of man that he constantly
avows opinions of the attributes of his Maker fashioned by his
own miserable, puny faculties. As if it were possible that we
should know aught. of the Supreme Being beyond what He is
pleased to reveal to His creatures; and as if it were not a most
plain and rational duty to believe al/ that is revealed with our
whole powers of mind and soul! Even sincere Christians, with
the weakness and inconsistency of human nature, are too often
partially guilty of the same folly ; we are all too often disposed in
practice, if not in theory, to measure the power, and wisdom, and
justice, and mercy, and love of our God, by our own pitiful stand-
ard; and yet, meanwhile, the blessed light of the Gospel is shin-
ing in all its fullness upon us, revealing great truths connected
with this most sacred subject, in the plamest words. Happy
would it be for man were he always content to know his gracious
God, only as he has made himself known to us, to reject every
idea of His attributes which is not derived from Scripture, and to
cling with every energy of soul and body to the holy truths of
this nature vouchsafed to us in His word. This simple assur-
ance of the fullness and directness of God’s providence would,
in that case, prove a most blessed source of comfort to every
Christian heart, amid the trials and sorrows of life; but it is
with this as with so many other instances, the boon is offered by
God, but it is rejected or neglected by man. “The very hairs
of your head are all numbered)’—a stronger expression of tender
watchfulness could not be framed in human language ; it conveys
an idea quite beyond the reach of all human power. And such
were the words of the Deity to sinful man; it was the holy voice

of the Redeemer which gave them utterance. It is true, this lan-

SPARROWS, 4147

guage was addressed to the first chosen disciples, men far holier
than we; but all have been redeemed by the precious death of
Christ, and every human soul, therefore, may justly feel itself to
be “of more value than many sparrows ;” not one is “ forgotten
before God.” We all, the most humble and insignificant, may
find comfort in the passage. It is remarkable that this revelation
of the directness of the providence of God, the oversight and
care bestowed by the Almighty on the meanest of his creatures,
and his tender watchfulness over his servants, should have been
given when foretelling the grievous trials and persecutions which
awaited the chosen disciples of the Lord. The same God who
feeds the young ravens that cry unto him, sees also the falling
sparrow ; he sees the evil, but permits it ; when sorrows and troub-
les come, they must be necessary in his sight for some good and
wise purpose—it may be that the evil we mourn is needed for
some immediate personal end which we are too blind to perceive,
or it may be required to strengthen, in the sight of men and
angels, some one of those great truths by which a universe is
governed. In either case, well does it become the sinful child of
man to suffer meekly ; alas, that it should be so difficult to “let
patience have her perfect work!’ Let us at least always repel
the false, unfaithful notion that we are ever, under the darkest cir-
cumstances, left to the blind dealings of chance, or fate, that we
are ever forgotten before our God !

It is very possible that the little sparrows of Judea were flit-

ting about in the presence of our Lord at the moment those gra-.

cious words were spoken: ‘ Not a sparrow falleth to the ground
without your Father,—fear not, therefore, ye are of more value

than many sparrows.” These birds were sold for less than one
1s*

418 RURAL HOURS.

cent of our money each; the Roman coin mentioned in the orig-
inal being in value one cent and a half of our own copper, and
two sparrows were sold for one of these, or, as St. Luke tells us,
five sparrows were sold for two farthings. Sparrows are sup-
posed to have been used in the temple for the ceremony of puri-
fying from leprosy, and were sold for that purpose. This rite
was a singular one: two birds were required ; one was killed with
peculiar circumstances, the living bird dipped in its blood, and the
blood then sprinkled seven times on the leper, after which the
priest “shall pronounce him clean, shall let the living bird loose
into the open field.” The flying away of the live bird, with
the blood upon him, is supposed to be a type of the Atonement,
like the scape-goat driven into the wilderness with the curse for
sin on his head. Singular and obscure as some of these old Jew-
ish rites appear to the happier Christian, nothing can be more
clear than that each became of high import and dignity from the
moment it was appointed by Divine authority ; and if no common
sparrow falls to the ground without our Father in heaven, cere-
monies expressly ordained by Him, in which the humblest birds
were employed as a means, must have been of grave importance,
and blessed effect to all who faithfully kept them. It has been
supposed, that after healing the leper, as recorded by St. Matthew,
chapter viil., our Lord was pleased to order the man he had mi-
raculously cured, to fulfill this same ceremony, when he bid him
“Go show thyself to the priest, and offer the gift commanded by
Moses.”

The sparrows of this continent differ more or less from those
of the Old World, although, as a common, humble bird, their

character is very similar, The European sparrow is, at times, mis-

SPARROWS. 419

chievous and troublesome, differing in this respect from ours,
which are all very harmless little creatures. With us they have
no price; they are neither bought nor sold; their plumage, voice,
and flesh, having little to recommend them to the dangerous
favor of man. We have many varieties belonging to different
seasons and situations; all varying from the Eastern bird of the
same family. The plain little chipping-sparrows are good friends
with us all, found through the summer about every garden in the
country, the very tamest of our birds, running in the paths we
tread ourselves, and scarcely moving out of our way, as we come
and go. The seng-sparrow, very like the chipping-bird in size
and plumage, is one of the earliest of our singing-birds. We are
all familiar with its pleasing note; it is the only one of its tribe
that has a fine voice. ‘Then there is the swamp-sparrow, which
passes the summer along the water-courses of the Northern States,
and winters on the rice plantations of the South. The Savannah,
or coast-sparrow, again, is chiefly found near the sea-shore. It
is a pretty bird, but unknown among our hills. The yellow-wing
is a small species, with a faint note, said to be the least numerous
of its family; this autumn, however, we saw a little flock flitting
about for half an hour among the shrubbery. The field-sparrow
is the smallest of all its tribe, and a migratory bird here; it lives
more in the open fields, and less along fences and hedges, than its
brethren. The bay-wing, or grass-bird, again, is only seen in our
meadows in summer, though found through the winter near New
York. All these varieties either linger in small parties in the
lower counties during the cold weather, or proceed to the South-
ern States, whence they return to us in the spring. But there

are four other species which come from the northward to winter

420 RURAL HOURS.

with us, and return to still cooler regions as the warm weather
approaches. These are the white-throat, a pretty bird; the
white-crowned sparrow, more rare; the fox-colored sparrow ; and
the tree-sparrow, like those we saw this morning. Thus at all
seasons these little creatures are near to tell us of the direct and
immediate care of Providence ; they run about our doors as we
come in and go out; they rise from their grassy nests in the open
field; they sing to us from the thickets and bushes; we find
them by the bank of the river; on the sea-shore; and as one
party goes with the falling leaves of autumn, they are succeeded
by others who perch among the naked branches, and remain
through the cheerless winter. Each of these humble flocks as it
crosses our path, whether in the storm or in the sunshine, may
remind us of the same sublime truth, that they and we are ever
under the care of our merciful Father in heaven, never forgotten
before God.

Monday, 11th.—Very mild. <A dull day closed with a cheer-
ing sunset; the clouds, in waving folds of gray, covered the whole
heavens ; but as the sun dropped low, he looked in upon us, and
immediately the waves of vapor were all tinged with red, dark
and rich beyond the pines of Sunset Hill, and paler, but still
flushed, to the farthest point of the horizon.

Another little sparrow flew past us, as we were walking this
afternoon.

Tuesday, 12th.—Mild, but cooler; frost last night. Long
walkin the woods. Much green fern still in many places, although

it is no longer erect. We have had only one fall of snow, and

that a light one; but the fern is already lying on the ground,

prostrate, as in spring. Adjoining these fresh leaves of the dif-

THE PANTHER. 421

ferent ferns, there are large tufts of the same kind completely dry
and withered, though it is not easy to see why there should be
this difference. Can it be the younger fronds which are more
tenacious of life? Gathered a fine bunch of the scarlet berries,
of the dragon-arum, as bright as in September. The oround-
laurel is in flower-bud, and the buds are quite full. Many trees
and plants are budding.

An old hemlock had fallen across the highway very near the
same spot where another large tree fell also across the road, not
long since. There are so many dead and decaying trees in our
American woods, that, of a windy day, they often fall. Some
persons are afraid to go in the forest when there is a high wind,
but often as we walk there, we have never seen one fall. :

Wednesday, 13th.—Lovely day; mild and cloudless. Walked
on Mount

The lake very beautiful as we looked down upon
it; clear light blue, encircled by the brown hills.

No birds. At this season one may often pass through the
woods without seeing a feathered thing; and yet woodpeckers,
blue-jays, and crows are there by the score, besides snow-birds,
chicadees, sparrows, and winter-wrens, perhaps; but they do not
seem to cross one’s path. The larger birds are never active at
this season, but the snow-bird and chicadee are full of life.

Thursday, 14th.—Muild, pleasant day. Again we hear news
of the panther: a very respectable man, a farmer, living a mile
that he

was returning quite late at night from the village, when he was

or two from the village, on the lake shore, tells

startled by hearing a wild sort of cry in the woods, above the

road, sounding as though it came from Rock Hill; he thought at

first it was a Woman crying in a wailing kind of way, and was on

422 RURAL HOURS

the point of turning back and following the sound, but the cry
was repeated several times, and he thought, after all, it was not a
woman’s voice. A few days later, as his little boys were cross-
ing a piece of woods on the top of Cliff Hill, they heard a
strange cry at no great distance, sounding something like a wo-
man’s voice; they answered the voice, when the sound was re-
peated several times in a strange way, which disturbed the little
fellows so effectually, that they turned back and ran nearly a
mile, until they reached the farm-house, very much frightened.
Both the farmer and the boys, in this case, are a very quiet, steady
set, not at all likely to invent a tale of the kind. It really looks
as if the creature were in the neighborhood, strange as it may
seem. It so happened, that only a day or two before the boys
heard the cry in the Cliff woods, we were crossing that very ground
with one of them, never dreaming of a panther being near us;
if it were really there at the time, one would have liked to have
caught a glimpse of it—just near enough to decide the point,
and to boast for the rest of one’s days of having met a real
live panther in our own woods! Bad as their reputation is,
they seldom, I believe, attack human beings unless exasperated ;
and of course we should have been satisfied with a distant and
brief interview ; for no doubt we should have been very heartily
frightened.

Friday, 15th.—We return to the birds of more than common
interest.

The Bald Eagle can searcely be called a rare bird with us, for
in some parts of the country it is very common; at other points,
however, it is not often seen. We Americans all have a national

interest in this powerful bird as the emblem of our country, and

THE BALD-EAGLE. 423

yet few among us know much about him. He is frequently sup-
posed to be peculiar to this continent: according to ornithologists,
such is not the case; he is found in the northern parts of the
Old Hemisphere also. He is much more rare, however, in Eu-
rope than in the Western World, and what is singular, he is chiefly
confined there to extreme northern regions, while it is rather the
temperate and warmer climates of this continent which he affects.
Only two instances are known where this eagle has visited Central
Europe ; in America, they are found from Labrador to the Gulf
of Mexico, but they are most common within the milder latitudes
of that space.

The Bald Eagles are more numerous along our coast than in
the interior; their fondness for fish draws them to the sea-shore.
Their singular habit of exacting tribute from the Osprey is well
known, and is a spectacle very frequently seen along the coast,
where the Fish-Hawks are most common. ‘The Eagle sits watch-
ing upon a naked limb of some tall tree near the water, while the
Fish-Hawk is soaring at the height of a hundred feet or more
above the waves in quest of prey; as soon as the Hawk has dived
and arisen with a fish in its talons, then the Eagle leaves his perch
and pursues the luckless Osprey, with threats so well understood,
that the fish is dropped, the Eagle sinks, and seizing it as it falls,
carries it off to his haunts in the woods, where he makes his meal.
In New York, the Bald Eagle is most common along the Sound,
on Long Island, and also about Niagara; but he is no stranger
to any part of the country. They are frequently seen soaring
over the Highlands near West Point. Now and then one is ob-
served hovering over our own little lake, Their fisherman, the

Osprey, also visits the interior, following our larger rivers to their

ADA RURAL HOURS.

head-waters ; but here, one of their nests is a rarity, while on the
coast, Mr. Wilson once counted twenty within a mile.

The Bald Eagles build their nest in a tall tree, perhaps a pine,
or farther south, it may be a cypress. They first lay a sort of

floor of large sticks several feet in length; over this are placed

sods of earth, hay, moss, sedge-grass, pine-tops, &c., &c. This
eyry continues to be used as long as the tree lasts, and when their
old homestead has been destroyed, they will often take possession
of an adjoining tree, rather than abandon the neighborhood. They
resort to their nest constantly as a dwelling, at all times, repairing
it when necessary, until the pile rises to the height of five or six
feet, with a breadth of four or five feet. The mother-bird begins
to lay in February ; and it is said that while the first brood is half
fledged, she lays other eges, which the young birds help to hatch
by their warmth. Whether this is really true or not, one cannot
say.

Besides fish, these Eagles prey upon ducks, geese, gulls, and
all kinds of water-fowls; at times, they feed upon lambs, pigs,
fawns, and even deer. Mr. Audubon gives a very spirited ac-
count of their hunting the wild swan, the male and female in com-
pany. ‘Two instances are recorded in which infants have been
seized by these powerful birds, one occurring in Georgia, and
given by Mr. Nuttall, the other happening in New Jersey, and
related by Mr. Wilson. In the first instance, the child is said to
have been carried five miles, to the eyry of the bird; it was im-
mediately followed, but the poor creature was already dead. In
the last case, the child was seized as it was playing by its moth-
er’s side, while she was weeding in her garden; a sudden rushing

sound, and a scream from the child, alarmed the woman: she

findlicotts Lith.N. Y.

xy

©. Pictna 772,

&

<3

7

a oye

vise

THE BALD-EAGLE. 425

started up, and saw her baby thrown down and dragged several
feet by a Bald Eagle, when happily the infant’s dress gave way,
and the bird rose, carrying off a fragment of it in his talons. The
length of these birds is three feet; extent of wings, seven feet.
The female, as usual with birds of prey, is the largest and most
daring. ‘They are not at all bald, as their name would imply,
but, in fact, hoary-headed: the plumage of the whole head and
neck being white; the tail and wing-coverts are also white; the
rest of the plumage is chiefly brown; the legs and bill are of a
golden yellow.

There is another gigantic fishing Eagle, called the Washington
Eagle, a very rare bird, described by Mr. Audubon as decidedly
larger; its length is three feet seven inches; extent of wings, ten
feet two inches. They build upon the rocks along the Upper
Mississippi.

Long may the Bald Eagle continue to be the national emblem
of a vigorous and a united people, as long as the bird soars over
the broad land! It must prove a dark hour for the country when
either wing is maimed. There are always, in every community,
in public as in private life, those who are not afraid to assume a
character which the wise man has declared “an abomination ”’ in
the sight of their God; yes, this character “doth the Lord hate’
—‘he that soweth discord among brethren.”

If, in the subject of a monarchy, loyalty to the sovereign be a
just and a generous sentiment,—and most assuredly it is so,—still
more noble in character is the nature of that loyalty which has
for object a sacred bond, uniting in one family the beating hearts,
the active spirits, the intelligent minds of millions of men; breth-

ren in blood and in faith !

—

426 RURAL HOURS.

Shall such a bond be severed by distempered passions? Let
us be on our guard, lest the ev.l be brought about by small an-
tagonist parties whose sympathies are not loyal to the nation at
large. History may teach us that small parties are often very

dangerous, and nowhere more so than in republics.

* * * * * * %*%

It is well known that we have in the southern parts of the
country a member of the Parrot tribe, the Carolina Parakeet.
It is a handsome bird, and interesting from being the only one of
its family met with in a temperate climate of the Northern Hemis-
phere. They are found in great numbers as far north as Virginia,
on the Atlantic coast; beyond the Alleghanies, they spread them-
selves much farther to the northward, bemg frequent on the
banks of the Ohio, and in the neighborhood of St. Louis. They
are even found along the Illinois, nearly as far north as the sliores
of Lake Michigan. ‘They fly in flocks, noisy and restless, like all
their brethren; their coloring is green and orange, with a shade
of red about the head. In the Southern States their flesh is
eaten. Greatly to the astonishment of the good people of Al-
bany, a large flock of these birds appeared in their neighborhood
in the year 1795. It is a well-authenticated fact, that a flock of
Parakeets were observed some twenty-five miles to the northward
of Albany during that year; so that we have a right to number
them among our rare visitors. They have been repeatedly seen
in the valley of the Juniata, in Pennsylvania. Birds are frequent-
ly carried about against their will by gales of wind; the Stormy

Petrels, for instance, thoroughly aquatic as they are, have been

found, occasionally, far inland. And in the same way we must.

THE IBIS 42.7

account for the visit of the Parakeets to the worthy Knickerbock-
ers about Albany.

But among all the birds which appear from time to time within
our borders, there is not one which, in its day, has attracted so
much attention and curiosity as the Ibis—the sacred Ibis of Egypt.
There were two birds of this family worshipped by the Egyptians
—the white, the most sacred, and the black. For a long time,
the learned were greatly puzzled to identify these birds; but at
length the question was fully settled by MM. Cuvier and Savig-
ny ; and we now find that the Ibis of both kinds, instead of being
peculiar to Egypt, extends far over the world. There are two
old paintings discovered among the ruins of Herculaneum, repre-
senting Egyptian sacrifices of importance, and in each several
Ibises are introduced close to the altar and the priest. The rev-
erence in which the Ibis was held in Egypt seems, indeed, to have
been carried as far as possible: it was declared pre-eminently
sacred ; its worship, unlike that of other divinities among them,
was not local, but extended throughout Egypt; the priests de-
clared that if the Gods were to take a mortal form, it would be
under that of the Ibis that they would appear ; the water in the
temple was only considered fit for religious purposes after an Ibis
had drunk of it. These birds were nurtured in the temples, and it
was death for a man to kill one. Even their dead bodies, as we
all know, were embalmed by the thousand. The motive for this
adoration was said to be the great service rendered to Egypt by
these birds, who were supposed to devour certain winged ser-
pents, and prevent their devastating the country. M. Charles
Bonaparte supposes that this fable arose from the fact that the

Ibis appeared with the favorable winds which preceded the rains

428 RURAL HOURS.

and inundation of the Nile. So much for the fables which con-
ferred such high honors upon the Ibis.

In reality, these birds, so far from being confined to Egypt,
are found in various parts of the world. In the Southern States
of the Union, particularly in Florida and Louisiana, they are quite
numerous; and they are found occasionally as far north as the
shores of Long Island. ‘They are said to fly in large flocks, and
feed upon cray-fish and small fry. Ornithologists place them
between the Curlew and the Stork. It is said that sometimes,
during a gale or a thunder-storm, large flocks of them are seen
in movement, turning and wheeling in the air, when their brilliant
white plumage produces a very fine effect amid the dark clouds,
The White Ibis is twenty-three mches in length, and thirty-seven
across the wings.

The Black Ibis was considered as confined to particular spots in
Egypt. In reality, however, this bird is much the greater wan-
derer of the two; it is found in Europe, Asia, Africa, Aus-
tralia, and America. It is said to be more rare on the coast of
this State than the White Ibis. Their annual migration over Eu-
rope is described by the Prince of Canino as extending usually
from the 8. W. to the N. E.; they pass from Barbary to Corsica,
and through Italy, toward the Caspian Sea, where they breed.
In the north and west of Europe they are rare, though for several
seasons a flock has bred in the Baltic. In Egypt it remains from
October to March, and, no longer sacred, they are sold there in
the markets. The Glossy, or Black Ibis, is twenty-three inches
in length.

These Ibises are said to be all dull, stupid birds, quite harmless,

and not timid. They live in flocks, but pair for life. They have

i

SS eee

THE IBIS. 429

an expert way of tossing up the shell-fish, worms, &c., d&e., upon
which they feed, and catching the object in their throat as it
falls. Their stomachs have greater strength than their bills, for
they swallow large shells which they cannot break. The nest is
built on high trees ; the female alone sits on her two or three eggs,
but the male feeds her, and the young also, the last requirmyg
care along time. Their gait is said to be dignified; large par-

ties often moving together in regular order. Their flight is heavy,

- but they soar high, and remain long on the wing. The first ob-

served on our coast was shot at Great Egg Harbor, in May,
1817; since then others have been killed from time to time,
as far north as Boston. So much for this noted bird, worshipped
by that “wisdom of the Egyptians” in which Moses was instruct-
ed, and which he rejected for that purer faith which each of us
should bless God for having preserved among men, in spite of the
weak and wavering apostasy to which our fallen race is prone.

It is rather smgular that we should have within the limits of
this northern province three noted objects of Egyptian adoration,
at least in each instance we have a closely-allied species : the Ibis,
both white and black, among their sacred birds; the Nelumbo,
akin to the Lotus, among their sacred plants; and the humble,
ball-rolling beetle, closely allied to their Scarabeeus.

Saturday, 16th.—Very mild, but half-cloudy day. We have
had rather more dark skies this last week or two than is usual
with us. The mornings have often been gray and lowering until
eight o’clock, though we have never known candles used here
after sunrise, even during the darkest days.

It is a busy time with the farmers, who are killing their pork,

which makes a great deal of work within doors also; housekeep-

430 RURAL HOURS

ers have many things to look after just now. The position of an
American housewife is rarely, indeed, a sinecure, but in the
country there is always a much larger share of responsibility at-
tached to the office than in towns. In rural life, baking and churn-
ing, the pastry and cakes, curing hams, and preparing sausages,
pickling and preserving, laying down eggs and butter, and even
making the coarser soaps and candles of the family, are included in
her department. In towns all these things are found for cash or
credit, at the grocers, or bakers, or confectioners. Of course,
when the pork is brought in, there is a great deal to be done:
some pork is to be corned ; hams, and jowls, and bacon are to be
looked after; sausage meat, head cheese, and soused pigs’ feet,
must be prepared.

Salt and smoked meats of all kinds are very much used in
this country, more so, probably, than in any part of Europe at the
present day. This sort of food made a large portion of the house-
hold stock in former ages ; four or five hundred years ago fresh
meat was only eaten at certain seasons. Beef, and mutton, and
even geese, were regularly killed for salting in the autumn, and
laid by as winter provisions. At present the amount of salted
and smoked food eaten in Europe is much smaller.

With us, particularly in the country, few meals are made with-
out some dish of this kind, either breakfast, dinner, or tea:
smoked fish, or broiled or cold ham, for instance, in the morning ;
ham, or bacon, or tongue, or corned beef, or it may be corned
pork, for dimer; and chipped smoked beef, or tongue, for tea,
Towards spring, in many villages and hamlets, it is not easy to
procure a supply of fresh meat; and salt provisions of all kinds

become not only the morceau de résistance, but also the hors

SALT FOOD. 431

d@euvre. Itis talked of, in village parlance, as the ham-and-egg
season, because at this time butchers are not to be depended on.
A few years since such was the case here, but at present we
are better supplied. As for country taverns, it may be doubt-
ed if they ever set a table without ham, broiled or fried, with
eges also, if possible. During an excursion of ten days, the sum-
mer before last, in the southern counties, we had but one meal
without ham, and frequently it was the only meat on table. The
Wandering Jew would have fared badly in this part of the world,
especially if he moved out of sight of the railroads.

There are said to be more hogs in the United States than in
all the different countries of Kurope together, so that a traveller
ought not to be surprised when he meets these animals in the
handsomest streets of our largest towns, as he may do any day.
Probably we should be a more healthy nation if we were to eat
beef and mutton, where we now eat pork.

It is not improbable that this taste for salt and smoked food
generally, may be owing to the early colonial habits, when the
supply of fresh meats, with the exception of game, must have
been small; and the habit once formed, may have become hered-
itary, as it were.

Monday, 18th, 7 o'clock, A. M.

valley lies cool and brown in the dawning light, a beautiful sky

Lovely, soft morning. ‘The

hanging over it, with delicate, rosy, sun-rise clouds floating here
and there amid the limpid blue. It will be an hour yet before the
sun comes over the hill; at this season its rays scarcely touch the
village roofs before eight, leaving them in shadow again a little

after four.

How beautiful are the larger pines which crown the eastern hill at

432 RURAL. HOURS.

this moment! ‘These noble trees always look grandly against the
morning and evening sky; the hills stand so near us on either
side, and the pmes are of such a height and size, that we see
them very clearly, their limbs and foliage drawn in dark relief
against the glowing sky.

Tuesday, 19th.— Most charming day; all but too warm.
Thermometer 66. Long walk over the hills. The farmers say
winter never comes until the streams are full; they have been
very low all through the autumn, but now they are filled to the
brim. The river shows more than usual, winding through the
leafless valley. This is in truth a protracted Indian summer; mild
airs, with soft, hazy sunshine. Dandelions are in full flower by
the road-side ; cows and sheep are feeding in the pastures. They
are ploughing on many farms; the young wheat-fields are beau-
tiful in vivid verdure.

In the woods we found many green things ; all the mosses and
little evergreen plants are beautifully fresh; many of the feather
mosses are in flower. ‘The pipsissiwa and ground-laurel are in
‘bud; the last has its buds full-sized, and the calyx opening to
show the tips of the flowers, but these are only faintly touched
with pink on the edge; unfolding them, we found the petals still
green within. It is very possible that some violets may be in
flower here and there, although we did not see any; but the au-
tumn before last violets were gathered here the first days in De-
cember, though generally, this month is wholly flowerless in our
neighborhood.

We passed a cart standing in the woods, well loaded with Christ-
mas greens, for our parish church. Pine and hemlock are the

branches commonly used among us for the purpose; the hemlock,

CHRISTMAS GREENS. 433

with its flexible twigs, and the grayish reverse of its foliage, pro-
duces a very pretty effect. We contributed a basket-full of
ground-pine, both the erect and running kinds, with some olitter-
ing club-moss, and glossy pipsissiwa, for our share ; it is not every
year that we can procure these more delicate plants, as the snow
is often too deep to find them. Neither the holly, the cedar, the
arbor vite, the cypress, or the laurel, grows in our immediate
neighborhood, so that we are limited to the pine and hemlock.
These two trees, however, when their branches are interwoven
are very well adapted for Christmas wreaths.

Wednesday, 20th.—Cooler ; the air more chilly. Walked in
the afternoon. (Gray gnats were still dancing here and_ there.
Found a merry party of chicadees in the oak by the mill bridge ;
their cheerful note falls pleasantly on the ear at this silent season.

Thursday, 21st.—Mild, but snowing a little; we may yet have
sleighing for Christmas.

It is a very busy time within doors just now ;. various important
labors connected with Christmas cheer are going on. Cake-jars
are filling up with crullers, flat, brown, and crisp; with dough-

nuts, dark, full, and round; with raisined olecokes, with spicy,

New-Year cookies, all cakes belonging to the season. Waffles, -

soft and hard, make their appearance on the tea-tables ; mince-
pies, with their heavy freight of rich materials, are getting under
way; and cranberries are preparing for tarts. Ducks and tur-
keys are fattening in the poultry-yards ;. inquiries are heard after
any grouse or woodecock that have been shot on the hills ; after
any salmon-trout, or bass, that may have been caught in the
lake. Calves’-head soup and calves’-foot jellies are under con-

sideration ; and fresh oysters are arriving in the village from the
19

434 RURAL HOURS.

coast by scores of kegs; in short, the activity in the rural house-
keepers’s department is now at its height. But at this busy sea-
son, during these Christmas preparations, the female Vatel is sup-
ported and cheered by a sort of holiday feeling which pervades the
whole house ; there is a dawn of the kindliness and good-will belong-
ing to Christmas perceptible in kitchen and pantry ; the eggs are
beaten more briskly, the sugar and butter are stirred more readily,
the mince-meat is chopped more heartily than on any other oc-
casion during the year. <A pleasant reflection this, and one upon
which it is sometimes necessary to fall back for consolation when
the pies are a little burnt in the baking, and the turkey proves
rather tough after boiling.

But the larder, though an important item, is very far from be-
ing the only object of attention in these Christmas tasks. Greens
are put up in some houses. Santa Claus must also be looked
after. His pouch and pack must be well filled for the little peo-
ple. Hoary heads, wise and gray, are just now considering the
merits of this or that nursery-book; weighing sugar-plums and
candies ; examining puppets and toys. Dolls are being dressed by
the score, not only your wax and paste-board beauties, such as
may be seen in every toy-shop window, but also other members
of the doll family which are wholly of domestic manufacture, such
as those huge babies of cotton and linen, almost as large as the
live baby in the cradle, with pretty painted faces, and soft, supple
limbs. These ‘“rag-babies,’ as they are sometimes called in the

nursery—Moppets, as we are instructed to name them by great

dictionaries

are always pets with little mammas; no other
dolls are loved so dearly and so constantly as these. Look at some

motherly little creature as she pets and fondles this her chief

MOPPET. 435

wreasure ; note her agony as that teasing young rogue of an elder
brother threatens death and torture to her darling, and you will
soon discover that, of all her numerous family, shapeless, clumsy
Moppet has the largest place in that warm little heart of hers.
Next to these great cloth babies, black Dinahs are the greatest
pets in the nursery. It is surprising what a fancy children have
for a black face; nay, it is more than a fancy, it is a very positive
affection. Whether it is that the negroes, with the cheerful
kindliness which usually marks their good-hearted race, have an
art of their own in winning little hearts or not, one cannot say ;
but it is well known that a black nurse is almost always a favor-
ite. These Dinahs of black morocco are, therefore, cherished
among the doll family as representatives of the dark face children
love so well; they are supposed to be taking very good care of
those white linen babies in the little cradle.

But it is not only older fingers which are at work ; many little
slips of womankind are now busily engaged upon some nice piece
of work for papas and mammas, grandfathers and grandmothers.
Many are the deep mysteries concernmg such matters cleverly
concealed just now under an innocent expression—mysteries which
Christmas-eve will unfold. And now, as the day draws on apace,
all sorts of work, bags, purses, slippers, mittens, what-nots, &c.,
&c., are getting a more finished look every hour. The work-table
is getting more and more crowded. Things wear a very different
aspect from the languid, listless, make-believe appearance of sum-
mer labors of the same kind; all are in earnest now, great and
small, old and young; there is not a moment to spare, Christmas
is at hand! And the thought that it is so,

436 RURAL HOURS.

£62 ye ican aes ESE torapKeCncled ge
On female industry ; the threaded steel
Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds.”

Friday, 22d.—It is snowing decidedly. We shall doubtless
have sleighing for the holidays.

Saturday, 23d.—Winter in its true colors at last; a bright,
fine day, with a foot of snow lying on the earth. Last night the
thermometer fell to 8° above zero, and this morning a narrow
border of ice appeared along the lake shore.

Sleighs are out for the first time this winter; and, as usual, the
good people enjoy the first sleighing extremely. Merry bells are
jingling through the village streets ; cutters and sleighs with gay
parties dashing rapidly about.

It is well for Santa Claus that we have snow. If we may be-
lieve Mr. Moore, who has seen him nearer than most people, he

travels in a miniature sleigh “ with eight tiny reim-deer :”

** Now Dasher, now Dancer! Now Prancer, now Vixen!
On Cupid, on Cornet! On Donner and Blixen!
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!
As leaves, that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky ;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too :
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof,
The pawing and prancing of each little hoof.”

The domain of Santa Claus has very much extended itself since
his earliest visits to the island of Manhattan, when he first alighted,
more than two hundred years ago, on the peaked roofs of New

Amsterdam, and made his way down the ample chimneys of those

SANTA CLAUS. 437

days. In this part of the country he is very well known. One
has regular applications on Christmas-eve for permission to hang
up stockings about the chimney for Santa Claus to fill; Sunday-
scholars and other little folk come stocking in hand as a matter of
course, and occasionally grown persons follow their example. — It
seems at first rather singular that Santa Claus should especially
favor stockings and chimneys; one cannot easily account for the
fancy; but a notion of this sort has spread far and wide. In
France the children put their shoes on the hearth Christmas-eve,
with the hope that during the night they will be filled with sugar-
plums by the “Bon-Homme Noel,” who is evidently a twin
brother of Santa Claus. But these are matters in which experi-
ence sets reason at defiance. The children will all tell you that
Santa Claus comes down the chimney—in this part of the world
he will even squeeze through a stove-pipe—and that he fills
stockings with good things, always looking after that particular
part of their wardrobe, though why he should do so remains a
mystery yet unfathomed. It seems a silly notion, perhaps. If
you belong to the wondrous-wise school, you will probably de-
spise him for it ; a sensible man, you will say, would put the sugar
plums in the child’s pocket, or leave them with the parents. No
doubt of it; but Santa Claus is not a sensible man; he is a funny,
jolly little old Dutchman, and he and the children understand each
other perfectly well. Some of us believe that he comes down
the chimney expressly to make wise people open their eyes at the
absurdity of the thing, and fills stockings because you would
never dream of doing so yourself; and there cannot be a doubt
that the little people had much rather receive their toys and

sugar-plums by the way of the chimney than through the door,

438 RURAL HOURS.

~ and that they find it far more delightful to pull treasure after
treasure from the stocking than to take them in a matter-of-fact
way from the hands of their respected parents.

Some people use harsh language toward our old friend; they
call him an impostor, and even accuse him of being, under false
colors, an enemy of the little folk; they say he misleads them.
Not he, indeed ; he is just as far from desiring to deceive his little
friends as Mother Goose, or the historian of Jack the Giant-killer,
and little Red Riding Hood; such an idea never enters his head.
Moreover, if he tried it, he would fail. Children are not so easily
deceived as you think for; in all simple matters, all that comes
within their own sphere of judgment, the little creatures have a
remarkable instinct which guides them with the nicest tact in
deciding upon the true and the false. They know, for instance,
who loves them, and who only makes believe; they understand
fully that this friend must be respected and obeyed, while that
one can be trifled with all day long ; they feel they can trust A——
with the whole confidence of their loving little hearts, and B——
is an individual of whom they have a very indifferent opinion,
though they do not choose, perhaps, to express it in words. As
for Santa Claus, they understand him well enough; they feel his
kindness and they respect his reproofs, for these are always made
with justice; they know he is a very great friend of children, and
chief counsellor of papas and mammas; they are perfectly sure
he will come to-night, and that their stockings will be filled by
him. Tom is a little afraid he will bring a new birch twig with
him, and Bessie has some fears of a great bitter pill to cure her
of crying; still, they would not have him stay away for the

world, and they go to sleep to dream of him. But at this very

SANTA CLAUS. 439
moment, if you were to step into the nursery and tell Tom and
Bessie that Santa Claus is in the next room, and wishes to see
them, they would not believe you. If you were to repeat the
assertion, it is probable that Bessie would reprove you for telling
a story, and ‘l’om might go so far as to enter into a logical dis-
guisition on the subject, informing you that nobody ever sees
Santa Claus, for the reason that there is no such person; who
ever heard of an old man’s driving up the side of a house, over
the roof, and down the chimney! Such things can’t be done;
he knows it very well. Nevertheless, next year Tom and Bessie
will be just as eager as ever for a visit from Santa Claus, and they
will continue to think his sugar-plums the sweetest, and his toys
the most delightful of all that are given to them, until they have
quite done with toys and sugar-plums—with those of the nursery,
at least. Happy will it be for the little people if they never have
a worse enemy, a worse friend either, among their acquaintances,
whether real or fictitious. In fact, there is no more danger that
the children should believe in the positive existence of Santa
Claus, than there is a probability of their believing the Christmas-
tree to grow out of the tea-table. We should be careful, how-
ever, to make them understand every Christmas, that the good
things they now receive as children are intended to remind them
of far better gifts bestowed on them and on us.

But most of the wisest people im the land know little more
about Santa Claus than the children. There is a sort of vague,
moonlight mystery still surrounding the real identity of the old
worthy. Most of us are satisfied with the authority of pure un-
alloyed tradition going back to the burghers of New Amsterdam,

more especially now that we have the portrait by Mr. Weir,

AAO RURAL HOURS.

and the verses of Professor Moore, as confirmation of nursery
lore. It is only here and there that one finds a ray of lig¢hé fall-
ing upon something definite. We are told, for instance, that
there was many hundred years ago, in the age of Constantine, a
saintly Bishop by the name of Nicholas, at Patara, in Asia Minor,
renowned for his piety and charity. In the course of time, some
strange legends sprang up concerning him; among other acts of
mercy, he was supposed to have restored to life two lads who
had been murdered by their treacherous host, and it was probably
owing to this tradition that he was considered the especial friend
of children. When the Dominican fraternity arose, about 1200,
they selected him as their patron saint. He was also—and is,
indeed, to this day—held in great honor by the Greek Church in
Russia. He was considered as the especial patron of scholars,
virgins, and seamen. Possibly, it was through some connection
with this last class that he acquired such influence in the nur-
series of Holland. Among that nautical race, the patron saint of
sea-faring men must have been often invoked before the Reforma-
tion, by the wives and children of those who were far away on
the stormy seas of Africa and the Indies. The festival of St.
Nicholas fell on the 6th of December, but a short time before
Christmas. It seems that the Dutch Reformed Church engaged
in a revision of the Calendar, at the time of the Reformation, by
a regular court, examining the case of each individual canonized
by the Church of Rome, something in the way of the usual pro-
ceedings at a canonization by that Church. The claims of the
individual to the honors of a saint were advanced on one hand,
and opposed on the other. It is said that wherever they have

given a decision, it has always been against the claimant. But in

SANTA CLAUS. ‘441

a number of instances they have left the case still open to inves-
tigation to the present hour, and among other cases of this kind
stands that of Sanctus Klaas, or St. Nicholas. In the mean
time, until the question should be finally settled, his anniversary
was to be kept in Holland, and the children, in the little hymn
they used to sing in his honor, were permitted to address him as
“ goedt heyligh man”—good holy man. It appears that it was
not so much at Christmas, as on the eve of his own festival, that
he was supposed to drive his wagon over the roofs, and down
the chimneys, to fill little people’s stockings. For these facts,
our authority is the Benson Memoir. A number of years since,
it may be thirty or forty, Judge Benson, so well known to the
old New Yorkers as the highest authority upon all Dutch chap-
ters, had a quantity of regular “ cookies” made, and the little hymn
said by the children in honor of St. Nicholas, printed in Dutch
and sent a supply of each as a Christmas present to the children
of his particular friends. But though we have heard of this
hymn, we have never yet been able to meet with it. Probably it
is still in existence, among old papers in some garret or store-
room.

Strange indeed has been the two-fold metamorphosis under-
gone by the pious, ancient Bishop of Patara. We have every
reason to believe that there once lived a saintly man of that name
and charitable character, but, as in many other cases, the wonders
told of him by the monkish legends are too incredible to be re-
ceived upon the evidence which accompanies them. Then later,
in a day of revolutions, we find every claim disputed, and the
pious, Asiatic bishop appears before us no longer a bishop, no

longer an Asiatic, no longer connected with the ancient world,
19*

442 RURAL HOURS.

but a sturdy, kindly, jolly old burgher of Amsterdam, half
Dutchman, half “spook,” The legend-makers of the cloister
on one hand, the nurses and gossips of Dutch nurseries, black
and white, on the other, have made strange work of it. It would
be difficult to persuade the little people now that “Santa Claus”
ever had a real existence; and yet, perhaps, we ought to tell
them that there was once a saintly man of that name, who did
many such good deeds as all Christians are commanded to do,
works of love and mercy. At present they can only fancy San-
ta Claus as Mr. Moore has seen him, in those pleasant, funny

verses, which are so highly relished in our nurseries :

‘¢ His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry !
His cheeks were like roses—his nose like a cherry ;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face, and a little, round belly,
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly ;
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf ;
And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself.”

Monday, 25th, Christmas-day.—There is a saying in the vil-
lage that it always rains here on Christmas ; and, as if to prove it
true, there is a heavy mist hanging upon the hills this morning,
with rain falling at intervals in the valley. But even under a
cloudy sky, Christmas must always be a happy, cheerful day ; the
bright fires, the fresh and fragrant greens, the friendly gifts, and
words of good-will, the “ Merry Christmas”’ smiles on most faces
one meets, give a warm glow to the day, in spite of a dull sky,

and make up an humble accompaniment for the exalted associa-

—-

MERRY CHRISTMAS. 443

tions of the festival, as it is celebrated in solemn, public worship,
and kept by the hearts of believing Chiistians.

The festival is very generally remembered now in this country,
though more as a social than a religious holiday, by all those who
are opposed to such observances on principle. In large towns it Is
almost universally kept. In the villages, however, but few
shops are closed, and only one or two of the half dozen places of
worship are opened for service. Still, everybody recollects that
it is Christmas ; presents are made in all families ; the children go
from house to house wishing Merry Christmas; and probably few
who call themselves Christians allow the day to pass without
giving a thought to the sacred event it commemorates, as they
wish their friends a “ Merry Christmas.”

Merry Christmas! Some people have found fault with the
phrase, they consider the epithet of merry as ill-judged, when
applied to this great holiday; but that is a notion that can only
arise from a false conception of its meaning; to quarrel with it,
they must suppose it to convey the idea of disorder, and riot,
and folly. It is, however, in fact, a good Saxon adjective, used
by some of the oldest and best writers in the language, as a
synonyme for sweet, pleasant, cheerful, gladsome ; Chaucer and
others apply it in this sense. Hundreds of years ago our English
forefathers talked affectionately of their native land as “ merrie
Englande,” and we cannot suppose that they intended to give the
idea of a country of confusion and riot, but claimed for their isl-
and-home a cheerful character. Again, the poets sung the
“merrie month of May,” a delightful, joyous season, assuredly ;
but who shall dare to see disorder and folly in the harmony and

sweetness of that beautiful period of the year?

AAA RURAL HOURS.

It is true that this good and hearty word of olden days has

been partially abused in later times, as men have discovered

** How mirth may into folly glide,
And folly into sin.”

But if we were to reject everything good and desirable in itself
because it has been abused by mankind, we should soon discover
that we had deprived ourselves of every blessing, not only tem-
poral, but spiritual also. If we were to give up all terms that
have been perverted from their true and natural meaning, we
should soon condemn ourselves to a silence more absolute than
that of the followers of Latrappe: only too many of the best
words in every language have suffered grievously from bad usage.
There is an old adjective of the same date as that under discus-
sion, which comes, perhaps, nearer than any other to giving a
true idea of merry in the sense we understand it, and that is blithe ;
and having been less tarnished by common uses, it still bears a
charming meaning. But few among us, when looking at this sub-
ject, will be disposed to dispute the authority of our own trans-
lation of the Holy Bible, which is generally admitted to be a
model of good, sound English; now the words merry and mirth
occur quite frequently in the pages of the sacred book, and the
following are some instances of the application they have re-
ceived. Merry is applied to feasting in Genesis, when relating
the joyful:meeting between Joseph and his brethren in Egypt ;
mirth is applied to laughter in the book of Proverbs ; it is oppos-
ed to mourning in Ecclesiastes, and it is connected with laughter
and pleasure in the same book ; in Isaiah it is connected with

thanksgiving, with joy, with music ; the sigh of the merry-hearted

CHRISTMAS. 445

is given as a token of general affliction. In Jeremiah the term
occurs repeatedly as applied to rejoicing: “the voice of mirth,
and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bride, and the voice
of the bridegroom.” And again, in another chapter, in a most
beautiful passage, giving a prophetic picture of a land in utter
desolation: “I will take from them the voice of mirth, and the
voice of gladness ; the voice of the bridegroom, and the voice of
the bride; the sound of the millstones, and the light of the can-
dle.” None but a very gloomy, or a very presumptuous mind,
would take upon itself to say, that in either of these instances,
anything unbecoming, or evil, is implied by the words mirth and
merry ; to most persons the impression would be of an opposite
character ; seemly gayety and cheerfulness would be the idea sug-
gested. In the translation of the Psalms as contained in the
Prayer Book, the word merry is used on one occasion in a very
exalted connection ; the 47th Psalm is held to have been written
either on the removal of the ark to Mount Zion, by King David,
or a few years later, on its final progress from the Tabernacle to
the Temple of Solomon. The fifth verse is thus translated : “ God
is gone up with a merry noise, and the Lord with the sound of
the trump.” Here we have the word applied to religious joy
upon a signal occasion. It is also remarkable that this Psalm is
one of those appointed for public worship on Ascension-Day, from
the application of this same verse to the Ascension of our Lord ;
and shall we, then, object to employing the same word in connec-
tion with the Nativity? In the translation of the Holy Bible,
made a century later, the same verse is rendered as follows:
“God is gone up with a shout; the Lord with the sound of a

trumpet.”

446 RURAL HOURS.

But as if expressly to decide the question, we find in the
prophet Hosea the word mzrth directly applied to religious festi-
vals. When rebuking the idolatry of the Jews, and proclaiming
the punishments which should in consequence fall upon them, the
prophet, speaking in the name of the Almighty, declares that the
land shall be deprived of her festivals :

«T will also cause all her mth to cease; her feast-days, her
new moons, and her Sabbaths, and all her solemn feasts.”’

Here we have the very word in dispute applied to the great
religious festivals of the Jewish Church. The learned theologians
who translated the Hebrew Scriptures, held it a fitting term in
connection with festivals of divine appointment, and coming from
the lips of an inspired prophet; those holy days are spoken of as
a blessing, as the mirth of the land, which the idolatrous tribes
no longer deserved, and of which they were to be temporarily de-
prived, as a punishment for their sins. After this passage, it were
worse than idle to cherish scruples against using the word in the
same sense ourselves. Let us, then, with every return of the
festival, gladly and heartily wish our neighbor, all fellow-Chris-
tians, the whole broad world, a right ‘ Merry Christmas.”

It is, m good sooth, Merry Christmas! | The day is bright with
blessings ; all its hours are beaming with good and kindly feelings,
with true and holy joys. Probably a fuller, purer incense of
prayer and praise ascends from earth to Heaven, upon this great
festival, than at other periods of the year. Thousands and ten
thousands of knees are bowed in adoration, from the remotest
coasts of heathen Asia, to the farthest isles of the sea; thousands
and ten thousands of voices are raised among the rejoicing na-

tions, repeating the sublime hymn first heard upon the hallowed

CHRISTMAS. 444

hills of Bethlehem, and borne onward from that hour through the
lapse of ages, unbroken, unceasing, by every successive genera-
tion of the redeemed:

“Glory to God in the highest; and on earth, peace, good-will
to men.”

It is Merry Christmas, indeed! Every beautiful festival we
hold in religious reverence, is connected with this greater festival ;
they all, laden with blessings and graces, follow in the train of
this holy day. Ay, it is the rising of the Sun of Righteousness on
Christmas morn, which has even softened the Jewish Sabbath,
and given us, with every successive week, the milder, purer light
of the Lord’s day. What better joy have we, indeed, from the
first to the last hour of every passing year of life, which does not
flow from the event we this day bear in fervent, thankful re-
membrance ? Every mercy of the past dates from the advent we
joyfully celebrate to-day. Every hope for the future looks to the
same great mystery. Every prayer offered to Heaven, becomes
an acceptable prayer only through faith im the same ineffable
Name. Every exalted anticipation of final release from sin and
sorrow, of attainment to the unspeakable joys of purity and wis-
dom, obedience and peace, is utterly groundless, save as it is con-
nected with the Nativity hymned this day by the Christain Church
Catholic.

It is, in truth, Merry Christmas! Peace on earth, good-will to
man, sang the heavenly host; and, as though even the solemn
recollection of the holy words were accompanied by a blessing,
we find that the sweet charities, the better feelings of the heart,
become more active on this holy day. There is nothing more

striking in the daily course of the world, than the recklessness

448 RURAL. HOURS.

with which men trifle with the precious boon of peace, the very
sunshine of life ; perhaps there is no one folly which so generally,
so frequently, and so lamentably reminds us that we are indeed
“very far gone from original righteousness.” But, on this holy
day, when we especially celebrate the Nativity of the Prince of
Peace, the solemn import of that high event, the perfect meek-
ness, the pure humility, the unfailing fountains of patience and
charity revealed to us in His sacred character, are not so easily
forgotten as at other times; our cold hearts are touched, our im-
patient spirits are calmed, our evil passions are lulled to pious
quiet by the noble devotions of the day. Probably, of all those
who on this festival gather in the places of Christian worship,
there are none, unless it be the wholly blind and unbelieving, who
leave the house of God without some touch of pure and healthful
influences ; carrying with them, for a while at least, something
more than usual of the light of Truth. Upon this holy day,
there is indeed an increase of ‘peace on earth :” those who love
already, love more truly, with more of that ‘pure and fervent

?

affection ’’ enjoined by the Apostle; friends draw nearer; and
even those who in the struggle of life have held themselves as
enemies, look with a milder eye upon each other—they feel, per-
haps, some drop of better feeling, falling like oil on the stormy
waves of evil passion. In short, on this day of blessing, the
Christian meets no fellow-creature with absolute indifference, he
parts from none with heartless carelessness.

Merry Christmas! Throughout Christendom, wherever the
festival is observed—and there are now few communities where
it is entirely forgotten—alms and deeds of charity to the poor

and afflicted make a regular part of its services, proclaiming

CHRISTMAS. 449

“ good-will to man.” ‘The poor must ever, on this day, put in a
silent but eloquent appeal for succor, in their Master’s name; and
those who have the means of giving, open more freely a helpful
hand to their afflicted brethren. The hungry are fed, the naked
are clothed, the cold are cheered and warmed with fuel, the deso-
late and houseless are provided for, the needy debtor is forgiven,
an hour of ease and relief is managed for the weary and care-
worn, innocent gratifications are contrived by the liberal for those
whose pleasures are few and rare. Doubtless there is no one
community within the broad borders of Christendom, where the
poor and needy receive, even on this day, a moiety of what should
be given them, if we bore more faithfully in mind the precepts of
our Master; nevertheless, were the whole amount of the charities
of this festival told and numbered, it would assuredly prove larger
than that of any other day of the year; and the heart rejoices that
it is so; we love to remember how many sad spirits have been
cheered, how many cares lightened, how many fears allayed by
the blessed hand of Christian Charity moving in the name of her
Lord.

Merry Christmas! What a throng of happy children there are
in the world, to-day! It is delightful to recollect how many little
hearts are beating with pleasure, how many childish lips are prat-
tling cheerfully, lisping their Christmas hymns in many a different
dialect, according to the speech the little creatures have inherited.
These ten thousand childish groups scattered over Christendom,
are in themselves a right pleasant vision, and enough to make one
merry in remembering them. Many are gathered in the crowded
dwellings of towns, others under the rustic roof of the peasant ;

some in the cabins of the poor, others within royal walls; these

Sm no a a a A OR

450 RURAL HOURS.

are sitting about the hearth-stone on the shores of arctic Iceland,
others are singing in the shady verandahs of Hindostan ; some
within the bounds of our own broad land, are playing with ever-
blooming flowers of a tropical climate, and others, like the little
flocks of this highland neighborhood, are looking abroad over the
pure white snows. Scarce a child of them all, in every land
where Christmas Hymns are sung, whose heart is not merrier
than upon most days of the year. It is indeed a very beautiful
part of Christmas customs that children come in for a share of
our joys to-day; the blessing and approbation of our gracious
Lord were so very remarkably bestowed on them, that we do
well especially to remember their claims in celebrating the Nativ-
ity ; at other festivals they are forgotten, but their unfeigned, un-
alloyed gayety help, indeed, to make Christmas merry ; and their
simple, true-hearted devotions, their guileless Hosannas, must as-
suredly form an acceptable offering to Him who Himself conde-
scended to become a little child, and who has said, ‘‘ Suffer the
little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such
is the kingdom of heaven.” Other religions have scarcely
heeded children; Christianity bestows on them an especial bless-
ing; it is well, indeed, that they rejoice with us to-day.

Merry Christmas! ‘The words fall idly, perhaps, from too many
careless lips; they are uttered by those who give them no deeper
meaning than a passing friendly salutation of the moment; and
yet every tongue that repeats the phrase, bears unconscious wit-
ness to the power of the Gospel—those good-tidings of great joy
to all mankind. From the lips of the most indifferent, these
words seem to carry at least some acknowledgment of the many

temporal benefits which Christianity has shed over the earth,

CHRISTMAS. 451

those cheaper gifts of hers which are yet incalculable in their
value. They tell of aid to the needy, of comfort to the prisoner, of
shelter to the houseless, of care for the sick and helpless; they
tell of protection to the feeble, to women, to children ; they tell
of every natural affection purified and strengthened ; they tell of
kinder parents, of children more dutiful, of husbands more gener-

ous and constant, of wives more faithful and true, of the high
bond of brotherhood more closely knit; they tell of milder gov-
ernments, of laws more just, of moral education; they tell of a
worship holy and pure. “The fear of the Lord maketh a merry
heart,” says the wise son of Sirach.

Tuesday, 26th.—Cold ; but the lake is still open. It has often
beautiful moments at this season, and we watch it with increasing
interest as we count the days ere its icy mask will creep over it.

Wednesday, 27th.—This evening’s papers tell us of a panther

actually killed on the Mohawk, immediately to the northward of
our own position, within the last week! The animal was shot near
the river by the captain of a Syracuse canal boat, and there seems
| very good reason to believe that it is the same creature who passed
some weeks among our own hills. According to the reports
brought into the village, the panther, when in our neighborhood,
was taking a northerly course ; during the last fortnight or three
weeks nothing has been heard of him; and now we hear of an
animal of the same kind recently killed about twenty miles to the
northward of us, upon ground where it excited as much wonder

as In our own valley.

It is rather mortifying that he should not have been killed in
this county, where he chose to show himself repeatedly ; but in

fact, our sportsmen were too much afraid of being hoaxed to go

452 RURAL HOURS.

out after him; they only began to believe the truth of the story
when too late.

Thursday, 28th.—Snow again. Reports from Albany say the
Hudson is probably closed, and navigation broken up for the win-
ter.. The river usually freezes some time before our lake.

Friday, 29th.—Snow. A darker sky than usual.

Saturday, 80th.—Still, half-cloudy day. Snow eighteen inches
deep ; a fall of several inches during the night. The air is always de-

hi¢htfully pure after a fresh fall of snow, and to-day this sort of win-

try perfume is very marked. Long drive, which we enjoyed extreme-
ly. We have put on our winter livery in earnest, and shall prob-
ably keep it, with a break here and there, perhaps, until the spring
equinox. It is, indeed, a vast change from grass to snow ; things
wear a widely different aspect from what they do in summer. All
color seems bleached out of the earth, and what was a few weeks
since a glowing landscape, has now become a still bas-relief. The
hills stand unveiled; the beautiful leaves are gone, and the eye
seeks in vain for a trace of the brilliant drapery of autumn—even
its discolored shreds lie buried beneath the snow. ‘The fields are
all alike: meadow, and corn-field, and hop-ground, le shrouded
and deserted ; neither laborers nor cattle are seen a-field during
three months of our year. Gray lines of wooden fences, old
stumps, and scattered leafless trees are all that break the broad,

white waste, which a while since bore the harvests of summer.

There is, however, something very fine and imposing in a broad
expanse of snow: hill and dale, farm and forest, trees and dwell-
ings, the neglected waste, and the crowded streets of the town,
are all alike under its influence ; over all it throws its beautiful

vesture of purer white than man can bleach; for thousands and

NEW YEAR’S. 453

thousands of miles, wherever the summer sunshine has fallen,
there lies the snow.

The evergreens on the hills show more white than verdure to-
day, their limbs are heavily laden with snow, especially those near
the summits of the hills. Sawa couple of crows in a leafless
elm; they looked blacker than ever.

The lake is fine this afternoon, entirely free from ice. When
we first went out it was a deep, mottled, lead-color: but the sky
cleared, and toward sunset the waters became burnished over,
changing to a warm golden gray, and looking beautifully in their
setting of snow and evergreens. :

January, Monday, 1st.—New Year’s. Light, half-cloudy day ;
very mild. ‘The lake quite silvery with reflections of the snow;
much lighter gray than the clouds. Excellent sleighing.

The usual visiting going on in the village; all gallant spirits
are in motion, from very young eentlemen of five or six, to their
grandpapas, wishing “‘ Happy New Year” to the ladies.

In this part of the world we have a double share of. holiday
presents, generous people giving at New Yeat’s, as well as Christ-
mas. The village children run from house to house wishing
“ Happy New Year,” and expecting a cookie, or a copper, for the
compliment. This afternoon we saw them running in and out of
the shops also; among them were a few grown women on the
same errand. These holiday applicants at the shops often re-
ceive some trifle, a handful of raisins, or nuts; a ribbon, or a
remnant of cheap calico, for a sun-bonnet. Some of them are in

the habit of giving a delicate hint as to the object they wish for,

especially the older girls and women: “ Happy New Year—and

454 RURAL HOURS.

we'll take it out in tea” —“ or sugar” —“ or ribbon,” as the ease
may be. |

Tuesday, 2d.—Windy, bright and cold. Thermometer fallen
to 2 above zero. The blue waters of the lake are smoking, a low
mist constantly rising two or three feet above them, and then dis-
appearing in the clear atmosphere—a sign of ice. Cold within
doors; the frost has found its way into the house; people’s ener-
gies are all directed to keeping warm such days as this.

Wednesday, 3d.—Cold, but less severe. Half a mile of ice on
the lake; the waters gray-blue beyond this point. The wind
raises the fresh, dry snow from the earth in clouds, and sweeps
the forest branches, bearing the flakes upward toward the
sky again, ere they have touched the earth. A wintry cloud of
this kind is now whirling to a great height above the hills at the
head of the lake. These whirling snow-clouds, borne aloft from
the earth, are what the “ voyageurs” call a “pouderie.” Several
times this morning they have been colored with a golden tint, by
the sun, like sand of gold.

Excellent sleighing, but too cold to enjoy it. The driver of the
stage-coach became so chilled last night, that in attempting to
wrap a blanket about his body, the reins dropped from his stiff-
ened hands, the horses ran, he was thrown from his seat, and the
sleigh upset ; happily no one was seriously injured, though some
persons were bruised.

The mails are very irregular now; the deep snow on the rail-
roads retards them very much. This is winter in earnest.

Thursday, 4th.—Much milder. Light showers of snow, falling

from time to time through the day. We have had little bright

COLD WEATHER 455

weather for the last week or two. The lake is still more than
half open. A pretty flock of sparrows came to cheer us this
afternoon.

Friday, 5th—A very stormy day; cold, high wind; snow
drifting in thick clouds. Yet strange to say, though so frosty and
piercing, the wind blew from the southward. Our high winds
come very generally from that quarter; often they are sirocco-
like, even in winter, but at times they are chilly.

All the usual signs of severe cold show themselves: the smoke
rises in dense, white, broken puffs from the chimneys; the win-
dows are glazed with frost-work, and the snow creaks as we move
over it.

Saturday, 6th.—Milder and quieter. Roads much choked
with snow-drifts ; the mails irregular; travelling very difficult.
Lake still lying open, dark, and gray, with ice in the bays. There
was a pretty, fresh ripple passing over it this morning.

It is Twelfth-Night, an old holiday, much less observed with
us than in Europe; it is a great day with young people and
children in France and England, the closing of the holidays. It
is kept here now and then in some families. But what is better,
our churches are now open for the services of the Epiphany, so
peculiarly appropriate to this New World, where, Gentiles our-
selves, we are bearing the light of the Gospel onward to other
Gentile races still in darkness.

Monday, 8th.—Cold night. The lake is frozen. We have

seen the last of its beautiful waters for three months,* or more.

* The lake opened the following spring just three months from the day it closed
—on the 8th of April.

oe

456 RURAL HOURS.

One always marks the ice gathering about them with regret. No
change of wind or weather short of this can destroy their beauty.
Even in December, when the woods are bare and dreary, when
the snow lies upon the earth, the lake will often look lovely as in
summer—now clear, gay blue; now still, deep gray; then again
varied with delicate tints of rose and purple, and green, which we
had believed all fled to the skies.

At 7 o'clock this morning the thermometer was three degrees
above zero ; this evening it has risen to twenty-six degrees.

Tuesday, 9th.—Much milder ; no more frost-work on the win-
dows. Sparrows flitting about. We have seen more of them
than usual this winter.

The hens are beginning to lay ; a few eges brought in from the
poultry-yard. The eges of this county have a great reputation
among the dealers who supply the large towns. They are con-
sidered superior to those of other counties, probably from their
size ; no other eggs but those of Canada rank as high as ours in
the city markets. ,

Wednesday, 10th.—Bright, cold day. Thermometer 6° below
zero this morning.

The California gold mania has broken out among us. ‘Two
months since we knew nothing of these mines. Now, many of
our young men, ay, and old men, too, have their heads full of them,
eager to be off. A company for emigration is forming in the
county, and the notices are posted up on the village trees in every
direction.

How fortunate it was, or, rather, how clearly providential, that
those tempting placers were not found on the Atlantic coast by our

ancestors! Well for them, and for us their descendants, that the

GOLD FEVER. A517

rich gold mines were found in Mexico and Peru, and not in Vir-
ginia or Massachusetts, the New Netherlands, or Pennsylvania.
Well for the nation that the Indians spoke the truth when they
pointed farther and farther to the westward for the yellow metal.
Well for the people that they had to work their way across the
continent before touching that dangerous ground. Had the pla-
cers of California lain in the Highlands, in the White or the Blue
Mountains, we should now, in all probability, have belonged to
enfeebled, demoralized colonies, instead of occupymg the high
and hopeful ground where we now stand, and which we may,
by the grace of Providence, continue to hold, if true to our God,
true and united among ourselves.

Thursday, 11th.—Clear, and severely cold. Thermometer 16
below zero at daylight this morning. Too cold for sleighing ; but
we walked as usual. So cold that the children have given up
sliding down hill—the winter pastime in which they most delight.
The lake is a brilliant field of unsullied white; for a light fall of
snow covered it as it froze, greatly to the disappointment of the
skaters. The fishermen have already taken possession of the ice,
with their hooks baited for pickerel, and salmon-trout.

Men are driving about in fur over-coats, looking like very good

representations of the four-legged furred creatures that formerly

S
prowled about here. Over-coats of buffalo robes are the most
common; those of fox and gray rabbit, or wolf, are also fre-
quently seen.

Friday, 12th.—Severely cold. Thermometer 17 below zero at
sunrise. Clear, bright weather. White frost on the trees this
morning ; the sign of a thaw. Few sleighs in motion; only a

wood-sled here and there, bringing fuel to the village.
20

458 RURAL HOURS.

Such severe weather as this the turkeys can hardly be coaxed
down from their roost, even to feed; they sometimes sit thirty-
six hours perched in a tree, or in the fowl-house, without touch-
ing the ground. They are silly birds, for food would warm
them.

Saturday, 13th.—Quite mild; bright sky; soft air from the
southwest. Pleasant walk on the lake; just enough snow on
the ice first formed, for a mile or so, to make the footing sure.
Beyond this the ice is clear, but unusually rough, from having
frozen of a windy night when the water was disturbed.

The clear, icy field, seen in the distance, might almost cheat
one into believing the lake open; it is quite blue this afternoon
with reflections of the sky. But we miss the charming play of
the water.

Monday, 15th.—Yesterday was a delightful day; soft and
clear. To-day it rains. We always have a decided thaw this
month; “the January thaw,” which is quite a matter of course.
The lake is watery from the rain of Saturday night, which has
collected on the ice, lake above lake, as it were. The hills and
sky are clearly reflected on this watery surface, but we feel rather
than see, that the picture is shallow, having no depth.

Tuesday, 16th.—The days are growing, as the country people
say, very perceptibly. It is surprising how soon one observes a
difference in this respect. According to the almanac, we have
only gained a few minutes morning and evening—scarcely enough,
one would think, to make any impression—but one marks the
lengthening afternoons at once. We seem to have gained half

an hour of daylight at least. This is always the first pleasant

change in the new year.

SKATING AND SLIDING. 459

Wednesday, 17th—Pleasant weather. Good sleighing yet.
Troops of boys skating on the lake. ‘The ice is a fine light blue
to-day ; toward sunset it was colored with green and yellow;
those not familiar with it might have fancied it open; but there
is a fixed, glassy look about the ice which betrays the deception,
and reminds one what a poor simile is that of a mirror, for the
mobile, graceful play of countenance of the living waters, in their
natural state.

The fresh, clear ice early in the season is often tinged with
bright reflections of the sky.

Thursday, 18th.—It is snowing a little. The children are en-
joying their favorite amusement of sliding to their hearts’ content ;
boys and girls, mounted on their little sleds, fly swiftly past you
at every turn. Wherever there is a slight descent, there you are
sure to find the children with their sleds ; many of these are very
neatly made and painted; some are named, also—the “ Gazelle,”
the “ Pathfinder,” &c., &c. Grown people once in a while take

a frolic in this way ; and of a bright moonlight night, the young

men sometimes drag a large wood-sled to the top of Mount ;
or rather to the highest point which the road crosses, when they
come gliding swiftly down the hill to the village bridge, a distance
of just one mile—a pretty slide that—a very respectable mon-
tague russe.

Friday, 19th.—Cold. The evergreens make less difference
than one would suppose in the aspect of the country. Beautiful
in summer, when all about them is green, they never strike one
as gloomy ; those which are natives of this climate, at least, are

not of a sombre character. But as winter draws on, and the

snow falls, they seem to grow darker; seen in the distance, in

460 RURAL HOURS.
contrast with the white ground, their verdure becomes what the
shopmen call an “invisible green,” darker than their own shad-
ows lying on the snow. They seem at this moment to have put
on a sort of half-mourning for their leafless companions. But let
the snow melt, let the brown earth reappear, and their beauty
returns—they are green again. ‘There are many days in our win-
ter when the woods of pine and hemlock look all but black. The
trees taken singly, however, are always beautiful.

Saturday, 20th.—A crust has formed on the snow after the
late thaw, so that we were enabled to leave the track this after-
noon. It is very seldom that one can do this; there is rarely any
crust here strong enough to bear a grown person. We are wholly
confined to the highways and village streets for winter walks.
One may look up never so longingly to the hills and woods, they
are tabooed ground, like those inaccessible mountains of fairy-
land guarded by genii. Even the gardens and lawns are track-
less wastes at such times, crossed only by the path that leads to
the doorway.

Occasionally, however, a prolonged thaw carries off the snow,

even from the hills, and then one enjoys a long walk with redoub-

led zest. Within the last few years we have been on Mount
every month in the winter; one season in December, another in
January, and a third in February. But such walks are quite out
of the common order of things from the first of December to the
fifteenth of March. During all that time, we usually plod hum-
bly along the highways.

Monday, 22d.—The Albany papers give an extract from a pa-
per of St. Lawrence county, which mentions that an animal be-

coming rare in this State, has recently been killed in that part of

TIIE. MOOSE. 461

the country. A moose of the largest size was shot in the town
of Russell, near the Grass River. It is described as “standing
considerably more than six feet in height, with monstrous horns
to match.” It was frozen in a standing position, and exhibited
as a curiosity in the same part of the country where it had been
shot; many people went to look at him, never having seen one
before. He was supposed to have strayed out of a large tract of
forest to the southward, called the “South Wood.”

These large quadrupeds are still rather numerous in the north-
ern forest counties of New York; their tracks are frequently seen
by the hunters, but they are so wary, and their senses are so
acute, that it requires great art to approach them. It is chiefly
in the winter, when they herd together, that they are shot.

They are ungainly creatures, with long legs, and an ill-shaped
head, heavy horns, and a huge nose. The other animals of their
tribe are all well formed, and graceful in their movements; but
the moose is awkward, also, in his gait. His long legs enable him
to feed on the branches of trees, whence his name of moose, from
the Indian mzsee or musu, wood-eater. It is well known that our
striped maple is a great favorite with him. He is partial, also, to
aquatic plants, the pond-lily in particular. It will also eat bark,
which it peels off from old trees. In winter, these animals herd
together in the hilly woods, and they are said to show great sa-
gacity in treading down the snow to form their moose-yards. In
summer, they visit the lakes and rivers. At this season they are
light brown; in winter they become so much darker, that they
have been called the Black Elk. As they grow old they gener-
ally become, indeed, almost black.

Dr, De Kay believes our moose to be identical with the elk of

462 RURAL ‘OURS.

Northern Europe. It is from six to seven feet in length, and
has a mane. Their horns are flat, broad, and in some instances
four feet from tip to tip. They have oceasionally been domesti-
cated in this State, for they are easily tamed.

The moose is decidedly a northern animal; they range on this
continent from the Arctic Sea to 43° 30’ in the State of New
York.

We have in the United States six varieties of the Deer family ;
of these, three are found in New York: the Moose, the Ameri-
can Deer, and the American Stag.

The Deer is the smallest and the most common of the three.
On Long Island, thanks to the game laws, they are thought to be
increasing, and in other southern counties they are still numerous,
particularly about the Catskills and the Highlands. They are
about five or six feet in length; of a bluish gray in autumn
and winter, and reddish in the spring. They belong rather to a
warm or temperate climate, extending from the Gulf of Mexico to
Canada.

The Stag is larger than the Deer—nearly seven feet in length,
and about four feet eight inches in height to the fore-shoul-
ders. Its color is reddish in spring, then yellowish brown,
and in winter gray. The Stag is now very rare in this State,
though still found in the northern and southwestern counties. It
is frequently called the Red Deer, and the Round-horned EIk ;
in fact, it would seem often to have been called more particularly
the Elk, under which name it was described by Jefferson. There
is a little stream in this county called the Elk Creek, and it was
probably named from this animal. It differs from the Stag of

Europe. Its horns are round, never palmated.

i Sa

THE LAKE, 463

Besides these three varieties, Dr. De Kay is inclined to believe
that the Reindeer was once found in this State, and that it may
even possibly still exist in very small numbers in the recesses of
our northern forests. It is said to have been known in Maine
and at Quebec ; and later still, in Vermont. and New Hampshire.
It is about the size of the common deer, the color varying from
deep brown to light gray. Both sexes have horns, which is not
the case with other species.

Tuesday, 23d.—Pleasant, mild day. Just on the verge of a
thaw, which is always the pleasantest of winter weather. Walk
on the lake. Quite slippery, as the ice is only dappled with
patches of snow here and there; between these patches it is bare,
and unusually clear and transparent. Indeed, it is just now dark
almost to blackness, so free from any foreign substance —no snow
being mixed with it. We never saw it more dark and pure; of
course it is the deep waters beneath, shut out from the light as
they are, which give this grave color to the ice as you look down
upon it.

Troops of boys skating. There were no very scientific per-
formers among them, nevertheless we followed them with interest,
their movement was so easy and rapid. Most of them appeared
to greater advantage on skates than when moving in their shoes.
Some of the little rogues, with the laudable desire of showing off,
whirled to and fro about us, rather nearer than was agreeable.
“Where’s your manners, I’d like to know!” exclaimed an older
lad, in an indignant tone, for which appeal in our behalf we were

much obliged to him.

Ladies and little girls were walking about, some sliding also,

464 RURAL HOURS.
their sleds drawn by gallant skaters. Altogether, it was a gay,
cheerful scene.

The view of the village was very pleasing, the buildings show-
ing against a bright sunset sky. They are cutting, or rather
sawing ice, to supply the village next summer; the blocks are
about ten inches thick. It is said that from eighteen to twenty

inches is the greatest thickness of the ice observed here.

Wednesday, 24th.—Very mild—thawing—the snow going rap-

idly. The hills are getting brown and bare again, and the coarse

stubble of the maize-fields shows plainly through the snow. Saw

a winged insect by the road-side, a very rare sight indeed in our
winters. I do not know what kind it was.

Met a number of teams drawing pine logs to the saw-mill. The
river runs dark and gray ; it never freezes near the village; the
current, though not very swift, seems sufficient to prevent the ice
| from covering the stream. Ice often forms along the banks, but
it is soon broken and carried away, and we have never seen it
stretch across the river. Very pleasant it is, in the midst of a
scene so still and wintry, to watch the running, living waters glid-
ing along with a murmur as low and gentle as in June.

Thursday, 25th.—Rainy day. High south wind. The locust
pods are scattered about the lawn on the dregs of the snow, yet

the number on the trees seems scarcely diminished.

They are cutting ice; the sleds and men moving about in the

water which lies above the ice, look oddly enough ; and, like the

reflected as clear as life.

Friday, 26th.—Beautiful morning; charming sunrise, warm

clouds in a soft sky. The lake rosy with reflections.

swan of St. Mary’s, they move double also—sleds, men, and oxen
|
|

CRICKETS. , 465

Saw a couple of flies sailing slowly about the room; they are
seldom seen here in winter. The spiders, so common in the au-
tumn, have either been killed by the cold, or lie stowed away
until spring. The whole insect world is silent and invisible, save
the cricket. This is the only creature of its kind heard about the
house during our long winters. We have one just now living
somewhere about the chimney, which sings with a very clear,
spirited note, especially of an evening when the fire burns bright-
ly. It is said that our crickets in this country are all field crick-
ets, which have found their way into houses by accident; they
seem to like their lodgings very well, for they chirrup away gayly
at all seasons, even when their companions in the fields are buried
deep under the snow. They do well to haunt our houses in this
way, for it makes quite different creatures of them, adding ano-
ther, and apparently a merry, cheerful, half to their lives. They
do not seem to require the annual sleep of their companions out
of doors. The true house-cricket of Europe is not found in Amer-
ica. Whether the voices, or rather the chirrup, of both is pre-
cisely alike, we cannot remember; probably there is not much
difference, if any. It is well known that the sounds made by
these little creatures are produced by playing their wing-covers ;
so that, in fact, they rather fiddle than sing. It is the male only
who is the musician, the females are quiet.

We owe the Mice and Rats which infest our dwellings, en-
tirely to the Old World. The common brown rat, already so numer-
ous here, is said to have come from Asia, and only appeared in Eu-
rope about the beginning of the seventeenth century, or some two
hundred and fifty years since. The English say it came over with

the Hanoverian kings. The German mercenaries, the ‘“ Hessians,”
o1%*%

466 RURAL HOURS.

of popular speech, are supposed to have brought it to this coun-
try. The Black Rat, smaller, and now very rare, is said to have
also come from Europe. We have, however, one native rat in tai
part of the world,—the American Black Rat—differing from the
other species, and very rare indecd.

The common Mouse, also, is an emigrant from Europe.

We have very many field-mice, however, belonging to the soil.
Among these is the Jumping-Mouse, which builds its nest in trees,
and is common through the country. The tiny tracks of the Field-
Mice are occasionally seen on the snow in winter.

There is another pretty little animal, called the Deer-Mouse,
which, strictly speaking, is not considered a mouse. Its body 1s
only three inches long, while its tail is eight mches. It takes leaps
of ten or twelve feet. It is a northern animal, nocturnal, and
rarely seen, but not uncommon; they are frequently found in
ploughed grass-lands. They feed chiefly on grass and seeds.

Saturday, 27th—Very fine day ; quite a full market-day in
the village ; many people coming in from the country.

The word store has been declared an Americanism, but it is not
always easy to decide what words and terms have actually been
comed on this side the Atlantic, so many of those which pass for
Yankeeisms being found in the best English writers, like the
stage of Sterne, and the pretty considerable of Burke, for instance.
Many other words and phrases of this disputed nature were un-
deniably brought over by the original colonists, and have been
merely preserved by their descendants, while our English kins-
men have forgotten them. It is quite possible that the word
“store” was first brought into common use when there was but

one store-house in every new colony, and all the different wants of

THE STORE. 467

the little community were supplied from the same establishment.

Although circumstances have so much changed. since those days,

although the catalogue of necessaries and luxuries has been so

much increased, yet the country store still preserves much of this
character, and would seem to deserve a name of its own. It is
neither a shop devoted to one limited branch of trade, nor a ware-
house implying the same branch carried out on a greater scale,
nor Is it a bazaar where many different owners offer goods of va-
rious kinds within the same walls. The store, in fact, has taken
its peculiar character, as well as its name, from the condition of
the country ; and the word itself; in this application of it, might
bear a much better defence than many others which have found
their way into books.

Now-a-days there are always, however, more than one store in
every village. Indeed, you never find one of a trade standing
long alone anywhere on Yankee ground. There is no such man
in the country as the village doctor, the baker, the lawyer, the
tailor; they must all be marshalled in the plural number. We
can understand that one doctor should need another to consult
and disagree with; and that one lawyer requires another with
whom he may join issue in the case of Richard Roe vs. John Doe,
but why there should always be two barbers in an American vil-
lage, does not seem so clear, since the cut of the whiskers is an
arbitrary matter in our day, whatever may be the uncertainties of
science and law. Many trades, however, are carried on by threes
and fours; it strikes one as odd that ina little town of some 1400
souls, there should be three jewellers and watchmakers, There
are also some score of tatloresses—and both trade and word, in

their feminine application, are said to be thoroughly American.

468 RURAL HOURS.

Then, again, there are seven taverns in our village, four of them
on quite a large scale. As for the eating-houses—independently
of the taverns—their number is quite humiliating ; it looks as
though we must needs be a very gormandizing people: there
are some dozen of them—Lunches, Recesses, Restaurants, d&c.,
&e., or whatever else they may be called, and yet this little place
is quite out of the world, off the great routes. It is, however, the
county town, and the courts bring people here every few weeks.

But to return to the “‘store;” there are half a dozen of these
on quite a large scale. It is amusing to note the variety within
their walls. Barrels, ploughs, stoves, brooms, rakes and_pitch-
forks ; muslins, flannels, laces and shawls ; sometimes in winter,
a dead porker is hung up by the heels at the door; frequently,
frozen fowls, turkeys and geese, garnish the entrance. The shelves
are filled with a thousand things required by civilized man, in the
long list of his wants. Here you see a display of glass and erock-
ery, imported, perhaps, directly by this land firm, from the Eu-
ropean manufacturer ; there you observe a pile of silks and satins;
this is a roll of carpeting, that a box of artificial flowers. At the
same counter you may buy kid gloves and a spade; a lace veil
and a jug of molasses ; a satin dress and a broom; looking-glasses,
orass-seed, fire-irons, Valenciennes lace, butter and eggs, embroid-
ery, blankets, candles, cheese, and a fancy fan.

And yet, in addition to this medley, there are regular milliners’
shops and groceries in the place, and of a superior class, too. But
so long as a village retains its rural character, so long will the coun-
try “store” be found there ; it is only when it has become a young
city that the shop and warehouse take the place of the convenient

store, where so many wants are supplied on the same spot.

THE STORE. 469

It is amusing once in a while to look on as the different cus-
tomers come and go. Some people like shopping in a large town,
where all sorts of pretty novelties are spread out on the counters
to tempt purchasers ; but there is much more real interest con-
nected with such matters in a large country store, whatever fine
ladies tossing about laces and gauzes at Beck’s or Stewart’s may
fancy. The country people come into the village not to shop, but
to trade ; their purchases are all a matter of positive importance
to them, they are all made with due forethought and deliberation.
Most Saturdays of the year one meets farm-wagons, or lumber-
sleighs, according to the season, coming into the village, filled
with family parties—and it may be a friend or two besides—two
and three seats crowded with grown people, and often several
merry-faced little ones sitting im the straw. They generally
make a day of it, the men having, perhaps, some business to
look after, the women some friends to hunt up, besides purchases
to be made and their own produce to be disposed of, for they
commonly bring with them something of this kind; eges or but-
ter, maple-sugar or molasses, feathers, yarn, or homespun cloths
and flannels. At an early hour on pleasant Saturdays, summer
or winter, the principal street shows many such customers, being
lined with their wagons or sleighs; in fact, it is a sort of mar-
ket-day. It is pleasing to’ see these family parties making their
purchases. Sometimes it is a mother exchanging the fruits of
her own labors for a gay print to make frocks for the eager, earn-
est-looking little girls by her side; often the husband stands by
holding a baby—one always likes to see a man carrying the baby

—it is a kind act—while the wife makes her choice of teacups or

brooms; now we have two female friends, country neighbors,

a yf Ne hl et he a

4170 RURAL HOURS.

putting their heads together in deep consultation over a new
shawl. Occasionally a young couple appear, whom one shrewd-
ly guesses to be betrothed lovers, from a peculiar expression
of felicity, which in the countenance of the youth is dashed,
perhaps, with rustic roguery, and in that of his sweetheart with

a mixture of coquetry and timidity ; in general, such couples are

a long while making their choice, exchanging very expressive

looks and whispers while the bargain is going on. It sometimes
happens that a husband or father has been either charged with
the purchase of a gown, or a shawl, for some of his womankind,
or else, having made a particularly good sale himself, he deter-
mines to carry a present home with him; and it is really amusing
to look on while he makes his selection—such close examination
as he bestows on a shilling print is seldom given to a velvet or a
satin; he rubs it together, he passes his hand over it with pro-
found deliberation ; he holds it off at a distance to take a view of
the effect ; he lays it down on the counter; he squints through it
at the light ; he asks if it will wash—if it will wear well—if it’s
the fashion? One trembles lest, requiring so much perfection,
the present may after all not be made, and frequently one is
obliged to leave the shop in a state of painful uncertainty as to
the result, always hoping, however, that the wife or daughter at
home may not be disappointed. But male and female, old and
young, they are generally a long time making up their minds. A
while since we found a farmer’s wife, a stranger to us, looking at
a piece of pink ribbon; we had several errands to attend to. left
the shop, and returned there again nearly half an hour later, and
still found our friend in a state of hesitation ; a stream of persua-

sive words from the clerk showing the ribbon, seemed to have

rm rn EE

CROWS. 471

been quite thrown away. But at length, just as we were leaving
the shop for the second time, we saw the ribbon cut, and heard
the clerk observe—“ Six months hence, ma’am, you'll come into
town expressly to thank me for having sold you three yards of
that ribbon !”

It frequently happens, if you are standing at the same counter
with one of these hesitating purchasers, that they will appeal to
you for advice as to the merit of some print, or handkerchief,
&e., &e.

Monday, 29th.—Mild, with light rain. Sleighing gone ; wheel-
carriages out to-day.

The Crows are airing themselves this mild day ; they are out
in large flocks sailing slowly over the valley, and just rising above
the crest of the hills as they come and go; they never seem to
soar far above the woods. This afternoon a large flock alighted
on the naked trees of a meadow south of the village ; there were
probably a hundred or two of them, for three large trees were
quite black with them. The country people say it is a sign of
pestilence, when the crows show themselves in large flocks in
winter ; but if this were so, we should have but an unhealthy cli-
mate, for they are often seen here during the winter. This
year, however, they appear more numerous than common. ‘The
voice of our crow is so different from that of the European bird,
that M. Charles Buonaparte was led to believe they must be
another variety; upon examination, however, he decided they
were the same. The habits of our crow, their collecting in large
flocks, their being smaller, and living so much on grain, are said

rather to resemble those of the European Rook :

ott EEE

A792 RURAL HOURS

‘¢ The shortening winter’s day is near a close,
The miry beasts returning frae the plough,
The blackening trains o’ Craws, to their repose,
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes,”—

says Burns, in the “ Cotter’s Saturday Night,” and he alluded to
the rook, for the European crow is not gregarious. Our birds
are very partial to evergreens ; they generally build in these trees,
and roost in them ; and often at all seasons we see them perched
on the higher branches of a dead hemlock or pine, looking over
the country.

The Raven is rare in this State; it is found, however, in the
northern counties, but is quite unknown on the coast. About
Niagara they are said to be common. They do not agree with
the common crow, or rather where they abound the crow seldom
shows itself; at least such is observed to be the case in this
country. In Sweden, also, where the raven is common, the crow
is rare. The raven is much the largest bird, nearly eight inches
longer, measuring twenty-six inches in length, and four feet in
breadth ; the crow measures eighteen and a half inches in length,
and three feet two inches in breadth. Both the crow and. the
raven mate for life, and attain to a great age. They both have
a habit of carrying up nuts and shell-fish into the air, when they
drop them on rocks, for the purpose of breaking them open.

It is said that the Southern Indians invoke the Raven in be-
half of their sick. And the tribes on the Missouri are very par-
tial to Ravens’ plumes when putting on their war-dress.

Tuesday, 30th.—Cooler. Wood-piles are stretching before the
village doors ; the fuel for one winter being drawn, sawed, and piled

away the year before it is wanted. They are very busy with this

WOOD FIRE. 443

task now; these piles will soon be neatly stowed away under
sheds, and in wood-houses, for they are all obliged to be re-
moved from the streets, early in the spring, by one of the village
laws.

Wood is the only fuel used in this county. In such a cold
climate we need a large supply of it. Five years since it sold
here for seventy-five cents a half cord ; it now costs a dollar the
half cord. Iron stoves are very much used here; they are con
sidered cheaper, warmer, and safer than fire-places. But how
much less pleasant they are! The smell of the heated iron is
always disagreeable, and the close atmosphere they give to a
room must necessarily prove unhealthy. A fine, open, wood fire
is undeniably the pleasantest mode of heating a room ; far more
desirable than the coal of England, the peat of Ireland, the delicate
laurel charcoal and bronze brazier of Italy, or the unseen furnace
of Russia. The very sight of a bright hickory or maple fire is
almost enough to warm one ; and what so cheerful as the glowing
coals, the brilliant flame, and the star-like sparks which enliven
the household hearth of a bracing winter’s evening as twilight
draws on! Such a fire helps to light as well as heat a room ; the
warm glow it throws upon the walls, the flickering lights and
shadows which play there as the dancing flames rise and fall, ex-
press the very spirit of cheerful comfort. The crackling, and
rattling, and singing, as the flame does its cheerful work, are
pleasant household sounds. Alas, that our living forest wood
must ere long give way to the black, dull coal; the generous,
open chimney to the close and stupid stove !

Wednesday, 31st.—Cold. Walked im the afternoon. It began

to snow while we were out; but one minds the falling snow very

Aq4 RURAL HOURS.

little; it is no serious obstacle like ram. The pretty, white
spangles, as they fell on our muffs, in their regular but varied
shapes, recalled a passage in Clarke’s Travels in Russia, where he
admires the same delicate frost-work as a novelty. It is common
enough in this part of the world. Since Mr. Clarke’s day these
pretty spangles have received the compliment of a serious exam-
ination, they have actually been studied, and drawn in all their
varieties. Like all natural objects, they are very admirable in
their construction, and they are very beautiful also. |

February, Friday, 1st-—Stormy day. <A flock of sparrows
passed the night in a balsam-fir near the house, and this morning
we amused ourselves with watching their lever. We first saw
them about seven o’clock, closely huddled together under the
thickest of the branches; then a movement began, some of them
came to the outer branches, and shook themselves; but they
soon retired again to more sheltered ground, for the tree was cov-—
ered with hoar-frost, and sleet was falling at the time. One would
think the little creatures must have been covered with ice them-
selves, and half frozen. They were a long time making up their
minds to get up such a stormy morning; then they busied them-
selves with preening and dressing their feathers ; and at length,
when it was near nine o’clock, they made a general movement,
and flew off together in the midst of the sleet and snow.

The Chieadees and Snow-birds scarcely mind the cold at all;
on the contrary, you often see them active and merry in the midst
of the whirling snow and wind. Probably all our winter birds
lodge at night in the evergreens. |

Friday, 2d.—Milder; a little snow. ‘This climate of ours is a

trying one for the architect. In a mechanical sense, the severe

HOLLY AND YEW. 475

frosts, and accumulated snows, and sudden thaws of our winters,
make up a season which tries men’s walls, and roofs, very thor-
oughly. But in another way, also, our winters are a severe test
of architectural merit ; the buildings stand before one naked and
bare, not only deprived of all the drapery of summer foliage, but
rising from a ground-work of snow, they seem to stand out with
peculiar boldness, and every defect challenges attention. One
may feel assured that a building which bears the scrutiny of a
snow climate in winter, will look like a perfect model at. other
seasons. ‘There is a certain fitness in some styles of architecture
which adapts them to different climates; a Grecian edifice never
appears to advantage surrounded with snow; there is a sort of ele-
gance and delicacy in its lines which seem to require softer skies,
and verdure for its accessories. A Gothic pile, on the contrary,
bears the snow well; it does not look chilled; it was not built of
a summer's day, it was made to brave the storm and tempest of
northern lands. This connection of climate and architecture would
seem to have not yet received all the attention it deserves, more
especially in our own country.

Saturday, 3d.—Blustering day. Among the numerous ever-
greens of this State are several which are interesting from Euro-
pean associations, and from their being rather rare in our woods,
many persons believe them to be wholly wanting.

The Holly is found on Long Island, and on the island of Man-
hattan, and a little farther south it is very common. It grows
from ten to forty feet in heiyht, and very much resembles that of
Europe, though not precisely similar.

The Yew is only seen here as a low trailing shrub, from four to

om

476 RURAL HOURS.

six feet high. It is found in the Highlands, and is not uncommon
northward.

The Juniper, or Red Cedar, is common enough in many parts
of the country. Besides this variety, which is a tree, there is
another, a low shrub, trailing on the ground, found along the
great lakes, and among our northern hills, and this more closely
resembles the European Juniper, whose berries are used in gin.*

Among the trees of note in this part of the country are also
several whose northern limits scarcely extend beyond this State,
and which are rare with us, while we are familiar with their
names through our friends farther south. The Liquid Amber, or
Sweet-Gum, is rare in this State, though very common in New
Jersey ; and on the coast it even reaches Portsmouth, in New
Hampshire.

The Persimmon grows on the Hudson as far as the Highlands,
and in the extreme southern counties. It is rather a handsome
tree, its leaves are large and glossy, and its fruit, as most of us
are aware, is very good indeed, and figures often in fairy tales as
the medlar.

The Magnolias of several kinds are occasionally met with. The
small Laurel Magnolia, or Sweet Bay, is found as far north as
New York, in swampy grounds. The Cucumber Magnolia grows
in rich woods in the western part of our State ; and there is one
in this village, a good-sized tree, perhaps thirty feet high; it is
doing very well here, though the Weeping Willow will not bear
our climate. This tree, in favorable spots, attains a height of

* Sir Charles Lyell supposes the American white Cedar, or Cypress, so com-

mon on the Mohawk, to have been the food of the Mastodon, from an examina-
tion of the contents of the stomach of one of these animals.

THE RABBIT AND THE HARE. ATT

ninety feet. The Umbrella Magnolia, a small tree, with large,
white flowers, seven or eight inches broad, and rose-colored fruit,
is said also to be found in our western counties.

The Papaw, belonging to the tropical Custard-apple family,
grows in rich soil, upon the banks of the western waters of New
York, which is its extreme northern limit.

The Kentucky Coffee-tree, with its peculiar blunt branches, is
also found in rich woods, on the banks of the rivers of our west-
ern counties. It is a rough, rude-looking tree, with rugged bark,
and entirely without the lesser spray one usually finds on trees.
We have one in the village, and it has attained to a good size,
though scarcely forty years old.

Monday, 5th.—Fine day. Saw a Woodpecker in the village ;
one of the arctic woodpeckers, which pass the winter here. ‘They
are not common in our neighborhood.

Tuesday, 6th.—Rabbits brought to the house for sale. They
are quite numerous still about our hills; and although they are
chiefly nocturnal animals, yet one occasionally crosses our path in
the woods by day. At this season our rabbits are gray, whence
the name zoologists have given them, the American gray rabbit ;
but in summer they are yellowish, varied with brown. They differ
in ther habits from those of Europe, never burrowing in the earth,
so that a rabbit warren could scarcely exist in this country, with
the native species, at least. Our rabbit would probably not be
content to be confined to a sort of garden in this way. Like
the Hare, it: makes a forme for its nest, that is to say, a slight de-
pression in the ground, beneath some bush, or wall, or heap of
stones. It is found from New Hampshire to Florida.

The Northern Hare, the variety found here, is much larger

478 RURAL HOURS.

than the rabbit. It measures from twenty to twenty-five inches
in length; the Gray Rabbit measures only fifteen or eighteen
inches. The last weighs three or four pounds; the first six
pounds and a half. In winter our hare is white, with touches of
fawn-color; i summer, reddish brown; but they differ so much
in shading, that two individuals are never found exactly alike.
The flesh is thought inferior to that of the gray rabbit. The hare
lives exclusively in high forests of pine and fir; it is common here,
and is said to extend from Hudson’s Bay to Pennsylvania. There
are a number of other hares in different parts of the Union, but
this is the only one known in our own State. It is said to make
quite a fierce resistance when seized, unlike the timid hare of Eu-
rope, although that animal is now thought to be rather less cow-
ardly than its common reputation.

Wednesday, Tth—Was there ever a region more deplorably
afflicted with ill-judged names, than these United States? From
the title of the Continent to that of the merest hamlet, we are
unfortunate in this respect; our mistakes began with Americo
Vespucci, and have continued to increase ever since. ‘The
Republic itself is the great unnamed; the States of which it
is composed, counties, cities, boroughs, rivers, lakes, mountains,
all partake in some degree of this novel form of evil. The
passing: traveller admires some cheerful American village, and in-
quires what he shall call so pretty a spot; an inhabitant of the
place tells him, with a flush of mortification, that he is approach-
ing Nebuchadnezzarville, or South-West-Cato, or Hottentop-
olis, or some other monstrously absurd combination of syllables
and ideas. Strangely enough, this subject of names is one upon

which very worthy people seem to have lost all ideas of fitness

NAMES. 479

and propriety ; you shall find that tender, doting parents, living
in some Horridville or other, will deliberately, and without a
shadow of compunction, devote their helpless offspring to lasting
ridicule, by condemning the innocent child to carry through the
world some pompous, heroic appellation, often misspelt and mis-
pronounced to boot; thus rendering him for life a sort of peripa-
tetic caricature, an ambulatory laughing-stock, rather than call
him Peter or John, as becomes an honest man.

It is true we are not entirely without good names; but a dozen
which are thoroughly ridiculous, would be thought too many in
most countries, and unfortunately, with us such may be counted
by the hundred. By a stroke of good luck, the States are, with
some exceptions, well named. Of the original thirteen, two only
bore Indian names: Massachusetts and Connecticut ; six, as we
all remember, were taken from royal personages: Virginia, from
Queen Bess; Maryland, from Henrietta Maria, the French wife of
Charles I.; New York, from the duchy of James II.; Georgia,
called by Gen. Oglethorpe after George IJ., and the two Caro-
linas, which, although the refuge of many Huguenot families, so
strangely recall the cruel Charles IX. and the wicked butchery of
St. Bartholomew’s. Of the remaining three, two were named
after private individuals—New Jersey, from the birth-place of its
proprietor, Sir George Carteret, and Pennsylvania, from the cele-
brated Quaker, while New Hampshire recalled an English county ;
Maine, the former satellite of Massachusetts, was named by the
French colonists after the fertile province on the banks of the
Loire, and Vermont, which stood in the same relation to New
York, received its French title from the fancy of Young, one of

the earliest of our American poets, who wrote “The Conquest of

480 RURAL HOURS.

Quebec,” and who was also one of the fathers of the State he
named. owtstana, called after the great Louis, and Florida, of
Spanish origin, are both good in their way. Happily, the remain-
ing names are all Indian words, admirably suited to the purpose ;
for what can be better than Alabama, Iowa, Missouri, Kentucky,
Tennessee, &c., &c. ?

New York, at present the most populous State in the republic,
is in this respect the most afflicted part of the country. The
name of the State itself is unfortunate in its association with the

feeble James, while the combination of the adjective ew, with

the brief old Saxon word York, seems particularly ill-judged. To ~

make the matter worse, the fault is repeated in the title of the
largest town of the Union, both State and city bearing the same
name, which is always a great mistake, for it obliges people, in
writing and speaking, to specify which of the two they mean,
when either is mentioned. In fact, it destroys just half the ad-
vantage of a distinctive name. The Dutch were wiser: they
called the town New Amsterdam, and the province New Nether-
lands. In old times, when the capital town ruled a whole de-
pendent country, it was natural that the last should be known by
the name of the first; Rome and Carthage, Tyre and Athens,
could each say, “ L’etat, c’est moi!” and more recently, Venice,
Genoa, Florence, Bem and Geneva, might have made the same
boast; but we Yankees have different notions on this point:
cockneys and countrymen, we all have the same rights, and the
good city of New York has never yet claimed to eclipse the whole
State. The counties of New York are not quite so badly served :
many of them do very well; but a very large number of the towns

and villages are miserably off in this respect, and as for the town-

NAMES. 481

ships into which the counties are divided, an outrageously absurd

jumble of words has been fastened upon too many of them. It
ought to be a crime little short of high treason, to give such
names to habitable places; we have Ovids and Milos, Spartas
and Hectors, mixed up with Smithvilles, and Stokesvilles, New
Palmyras, New Herculaneums, Romes and Carthages, and all
these by the dozen; for not content with fixing an absurd name
upon one spot, it is most carefully repeated in twenty more, with
the aggravating addition of all the points of the compass tacked
to it. '
We cannot wonder that such gratuitous good-nature in provid-
ing a subject of merriment to the Old World should not have
been thrown away. The laugh was early raised at our expense.
As long ago as 1825, some lines im heroic verse, as a model for
the imitation of our native poets, appeared in one of the English

Reviews.

a

‘* Ye plains where sweet Big-Muddy rolls along,
And Teapot, one day to be found in song,
Where Swans on Biscuit, and on Grindstone glide,
And willows wave upon Good-Woman’s side !”’

% ¥ x * * * *

** Blest bards who in your amorous verses call
On murmuring Pork, and gentle Cannon-Ball,
Split-Rock, and Stick-Lodge, and Two-Thousand-Mile,
White- Lime, and Cupboard, and Bad-Humored Isle.”
* * x # * * *
‘* Tsis with Rum and Onion must not vie,
Cam shall resign the palm to Blowing-Fly,
And Thames and Tagus yield to Great-Big-Little-Dry !”

Retaliation is but an indifferent defence, and is seldom needed,
2

A892 RURAL HOURS.

except in a bad cause. <A very good reply, however, appeared
in an American Review, and it is amusing, as it proves that we
came very honestly by this odd fancy for ridiculous names, hay-
ing inherited the taste from John Bull himself, the following being
a sample of those he has bestowed upon his discoveries about the
world :
** Oh, could I seize the lyre of Walter Scott,
Then might I sing the terrors of Black Pot,
Black River, Black Tail,
Long Nose, Never Fail,
Black Water, Black Bay,
Black Point, Popinjay,
Points Sally and Moggy,
Two-Headed and Foggy,
While merrily, merrily bounded Cook’s bark,
By Kidnapper’s Cape, and old Noah’s Ark,
Round Hog Island, Hog’s-Heads, and Hog-Eyes,
Hog-Bay and Hog John, Hog’s Tails, and Hog-Sties.”

= * * * * % *

Perhaps this taste is one of the peculiarities of the Anglo-Saxon
race, about which it is the fashion to talk so much just now.
The discoverers from other nations do not seem to have laid
themselves open to the same reproach. The Portuguese names
for the Cape of Good Hope, Labrador, Buenos Ayres, &c., are
very good; both themselves and the Spaniards gave many re-
ligious names, but the navigators of these nations also left many
Indian words wherever they passed. M. Von Humboldt observes
that Mantanzas, massacre, and Vittoria, victory, are frequently |
scattered over the Spanish colonies. The Italians have made
little impression in the way of names, though they have supplied

noted chiefs to many a fleet of discovery; probably, however,

NAMES. 483

many words of theirs would have been preserved on the hemi-
sphere bearing an Italian name, if the language had been spoken in
any part of the continent, by a colony of theirown. Asa people,
they have produced great leaders, but no colonists. The French
have generally given respectable names, either repetitions of
personal titles, or of local names, or else descriptive words la
Louisiane, les Carolines, le Maine, Montreal, Quebec, Canada for,
as we have already observed, leaving a good Indian name is equal
to ging one of our own. It may also be doubted if the French
have placed one really ridiculous word on the map. The Dutch,
also, have shown themselves trustworthy in this way ; their names
are rarely poetical, but they are never pompous or pretending.
They are usually simple, homely, and hearty: the Schuylkill,
or Hiding-Creek ; Reedy Island; Boompties-Hoeck, Tree-Point ;
Barnegat, the Breaker-Gut; Great and Little Ege Harbors; Still-
water; Midwout, or Midwood; Flachtebos, or Flatbush; Greene-
bos, Greenbush ; Hellegat; Verdreitige Hoack, Tedious Point ; Ha-
verstroo, or Oat Straw; Yonker’s Kall, the Young-Lord’s-Creek ;
Bloemen’d Dal, Bloomingdale, are instances. Among the most pe-
culiar of their names, are Spyt-den-duyvel Kill, a little stream,

well known to those who live on the Island of Manhattan, and

Pollepel Island, a familiar object to all who go up and down the

Hudson ; In-spite-of-the-devil-creek is a translation of the name
of the stream; formerly there was a ford there, and the spot was
called Fonteyn, Springs. Pollepel means a ladle, more especially
the ladle with which waffles were made. So says Judge Benson.

In short, it would not be difficult to prove that, happily for the
world, other nations have shown more taste and sense in giving

names than the English or the Yankees. It is remarkable, that

A84 | RURAL. HOURS.

both the mother country and her daughter should be wanting in
what would seem at first a necessary item in national existence, a
distinctive name. The citizens of the United States are compelled
to appropriate the title of the continent, and call themselves
Americans, while the subjects of the British Empire spread the
name of England over all their possessions; their sovereign is
known as Queen of Englana, in spite of her heralds; their armies
are the armies of England, their fleets are English fleets, and the
people are considered as Englishmen, by their neighbors, whether
born in the Hebrides, or at Calcutta, at Tipperary, or the Cape
of Good Hope. 7

Fortunately for us, the important natural features of this country
had already been well named by the red man. ‘The larger rivers,
for instance, and the lakes, are known by fine Indian words, unit-
ing both sound and’ meaning, for the Indian, the very opposite of
the Yankee in this respect, never gives an unfitting name to any
object whatever. As the larger streams of this country are among
the finest waters on the earth, it 1s mdeed a happy circumstance
that they should be worthily named ; no words can be better for
the purpose than those of Mississippi, Missouri, Ohio, Alabama,
Altamaha, Monongahela, Susquehannah, Potomac, &c., &e. The
lakes, almost without an exception, are well named, from the broad
inland seas of Huron, Michigan, Erie, Ontario, to the lesser sheets
of water which abound in the northern latitudes of the Union ; it
is only when they dwindle into the mere pond of a neighborhood,
and the Indian word has been forgotten, that they are made over
to the tender mercies of Yankee nomenclature, and show us how
fortunate it is that we escaped the honor of naming Niagara and

Ontario.

a sn eee ne anise

ee

NAMES. 485

There are many reasons for preserving every Indian name which
can be accurately placed; generally, they are recommended by
their beauty; but even when harsh in sound, they have still a
claim to be kept up on account of their historical interest, and
their connection with the dialects of the different tribes. A name
is all we leave them, let us at least preserve that monument to
their memory ; as we travel through the country, and pass river
after river, lake after lake, we may thus learn how many were the
tribes who have melted away before us, whose very existence
would have been utterly forgotten but for the word which recalls
the name they once bore. And possibly, when we note how many
have been swept from the earth by the vices borrowed from civil-
ized man, we may become more earnest, more zealous, in the en-
deavor to aid those who yet linger among us, in reaping the bet-
ter fruits of Christian civilization.

It is the waters particularly which preserve the recollection. of
the red man. The Five Nations are each commemorated by the
principal lakes and the most important stream of the country
they once inhabited. Lakes Cayuga, Oneida, Onondaga, and
Seneca, each recall a great tribe, as well as the river Mohawk,
farther eastward. There is a sound which, under many combi-
nations, seems to have been very frequently repeated by the Iro-
quois—it is the syllable Ca. This is found in Canada; it is pre-
served in two branches of the Mohawk, the East and the West
Canada, Lake Canaderagua, to the south of the same stream ; Ca-
nandaigua, and Canadaseago, and Canajoharie, names of Indian
towns; Cayuga, Candaia, Cayuta, Cayudutta, Canadawa, Cassa-

daga, Cassassenny, Cashaguash, Canasawacta, Cashong, Catto-

tong, Cattaraugus, Cashagua, Caughnawaga, and Canariaugo,

486 RURAL HOURS.

&c., &c., are either names still found in the Iroquois country, or
which formerly existed there. This syllable Ca, and that of Ot and
Os, were as common at the commencement of a name as agua,
aga, ogua, were at the conclusion.

From the roving life lead by the Indians, hunting and fishing
in different places, according to the changes in the seasons, they
have left but few names to towns and villages, and scarcely any
to plains and valleys. Nor does it seem always easy to decide
whether they gave their own names to the lakes and rivers, or re-
ceived them from the streams ; in very many cases in this part of
the continent the last would seem to haye been the case, espe-
cially in the subdivisions of the clans, for scarce a river but what
had a tribe of its own fishing and hunting upon its banks. Their
names for the mountains have only reached us in a general way,
such as the Alleghany, or Endless-chain, the Kittatinny, We.,
&c. Perhaps the fact that the mountains in this region le chiefly
in ridges, unbroken by striking peaks, may be one reason why
single hills have not preserved Indian names; but in many in-
stances the carelessness of the first colonists was probably the
cause of their being lost, since nere.and there one of a bolder
outline than usual must have attracted the attention of such an
observant race.

Our own success in naming the hills has been indifferent; the
principal chains, the Blue, the Green, the White Mountains, the
Catsbergs, the Highlands, &c., &c., do well enough in the mass,
but as regards the mdividual hills we are apt to fail sadly. A
large number of them bear the patronymic of conspicuous po-
litical men, Presidents, Governors, &e., &e. That the names of
men honorably distinguished should occasionally be given to

?

NAMES 487
towns and counties, or to any mark drawn by the hand of so-
ciety upon the face of a country, would seem only right and
proper; but except in extraordinary cases growing out of some
peculiar connection, another class of words appears much better
fitted to the natural features of the land, its rivers, lakes, and
hills. There is a grandeur, a sublimity, about a mountain espe-
cially, which should ensure it, if possible, a poetical, or at least
an imaginative name. Consider a mountain peak, stern and savy-
age, veiled in mist and cloud, swept by the storm and the torrent,
half-clad in the wild verdure of the evergreen forest, and say if
it be not a miserable dearth of words and ideas, to call that grand
pile by the name borne by some honorable gentleman just turning
the corner, in “‘ honest broadcloth, close buttoned to the chin.”
Indeed, if we except the man in the moon, whose face is made
up of hills, and that stout Atlas of old, who bore the earth on
his shoulder, no private individual would seem to make out a very
clear claim to bestow his name upon a vast, rocky pile. Perhaps
a certain Anthony, whose nose meets us so boldly in more than
one place, might prove a third exception, provided one could
clearly make out his identity. But generally it must be admitted
that this connection between a mountain and a man, reminds one
rather unpleasantly of that between the mountain and the mouse.

Doubtless it is no easy task to name a whole country. Those
gentlemen who devote themselves to making geographical dis-
coverles, who penetrate into unknown deserts, and cross seas
where pilots have never been before them, encounter so many
hardships, and have so many labors to occupy their attention, that
we cannot wonder if they are generally satisfied with giving the

first tolerable name which occurs to them; and it is perhaps only

EE SO a nie

488 RURAL HOURS.

a just reward of their exertions that the names given by them
should be preserved. But this privilege can only be claimed in
the earliest stages of discovery. Those who come after and fill up
the map, have not the same excuse. ‘They have more time for
reflection, and a better opportunity for learning the true character
of a country in its details, and consequently should be better
judges of the fitness of things.

And yet it is a mortifying fact that in this and in some other
points, perhaps, public taste has deteriorated rather than improved
in this country ; the earlier names were better in their way than
those of a later date. The first colonists showed at least common
sense and simplicity on this subject; it was a natural feeling
which led them to call their rude hamlets along the shores of the
Chesapeake and Massachusetts Bays after their native homes in
the Old World ; and although these are but repetitions, one would
not wish them changed, since they sprang from good feeling, and
must always possess a certain historical interest. But a continued,
frequent repetition not only wears away all meaning, but it also
becomes very inconvenient. After the Revolution, when we set
up for ourselves, then was the moment to make a change in this
respect ; the old colonial feeling had died away, and a good op-
portunity offered for giving sensible, local names to the new towns
springing up throughout the country; but alas, then came the
direful invasion of the ghosts of old Greeks and Romans, headed
by the Yankee schoolmaster, with an A bridgment of Ancient Histo-
ry in his pocket. It was then your Troys and Uticas, your Tullys
and Scipios, your Romes and Palmyras, your Homers and Virgils,
were dropped about the country in scores. As a proof that the

earlier names were far better than most of those given to-day, we

NAMES. 489

add a few taken from the older counties of this State: Coldspring,
the Stepping-Stones, White Stone, Riverhead, West-Farms,
Grassy Point, White Plains, Canoeplace, Oakhill, Wading River,
Old Man’s, Fireplace, Stony Brook, Fonda’s Bush, Fish-house, &e.

Long Island shows an odd medley of names ; it is in itself a sort
of historical epitome of our career in this way ; some Dutch names,
some Indian, others English, others Yankee, with a sprinkling of
Hebrew and Assyrian. Long Island was the common Dutch
name. The counties of Kings, Queens, and Suffolk came, of
course, from England, after the conquest of the colony under
Charles II.; then we have Setauket, and Patchogue, Peconic,
Montauk, and Ronkonkoma, which are Indian, with many more
like them; Flushing, Flatbush, Gowanus, Breuckelen or Brook-
lyn, and Wallabout, are Dutch; Hempstead, Oyster Bay, Near
Rockaway, Shelter Island, Far Rockaway, Gravesend, Bay Side,
Middle Village, and Mount Misery, are colonial; Centreville, Kast
New York, Mechanicsville, Hicksville, with others to match, are
clearly Yankee ; Jerusalem, we have always believed to be Jew-
ish ; Jericho, is Canaanitish, and Babylon, we understand to be
Assyrian.

There is less excuse for the pompous folly committed by giving
absurd names, when we remember that we are in fact no more
wanting in good leading ideas for such purposes, than other peo-
ple. After the first duty of preserving as many Indian words as
possible, and. after allowing a portion of the counties and towns
for monuments to distinguished men, either as local benefactors
or deserving well of the country generally, there would no doubt
still remain a large number of sites to be named. But we need

not set off on a wild goose chase in quest of these. Combina-
Gay 2

490 RURAL HOURS.

tions from different, natural objects have been hitherto very little
used in this country, and yet they are always very pleasing when
applied with fitness, and form a class almost inexhaustible from
their capability of variation. Broadmeadows, Brookfield, River-
mead, Oldoaks, Nutwoods, Highborough, Hillhamlet, Shallow-
ford, Brookdale, Clearwater, Newbridge, &c., &c., are instances
of the class of names alluded to, and it would be easy to coin hun-
dreds like them, always bearing in mind their fitness to the nat-
ural or artificial features of the spot; springs, woods, heights,
dales, rocks, pastures, orchards, forges, furnaces, factories, &c., &c.,
are all well adapted to many different combinations in this way.

Another large and desirable class of names may be fonud in
those old Saxon words, which have been almost entirely over-
looked by us, although we have a perfectly good right to use
them, by descent and speech. They will bear connection either
with proper names or with common nouns. A number of these
may be readily pomted out. There is ham or home, and borough,
also, which have occasionally, though rarely, been used. We
give others of the same kind :

Bury, yeans a town or a hamlet; Seabury would therefore
suit a town on the sea-shore ; Woodbury another near a wood.

Rise, speaks for itself, as rising ground.

Wick, has a twofold signification : either a village, or a wind-
ing shore, or bay. Sandwich would suit another village on the
shore ; Bushwick for a bushy spot upon some river.

Stead, and Stowe, and Stock, have all three the same general
signification of a dwelling-place. Thus, Newstead means also
Newtown ; Woodstock means a place in the woods.

Burn and Bourne, signify either a stream or a boundary, and

NAMES. 491

would, with other words, either proper or common, suit many vil-
lages ; thus, Riverbourne, where two States or counties are di-
vided by a river. Alderburn, for a village on a brook where
alders grow ; Willowburn also.

Shire, means a division.

Combe, means a valley ; Meadowcombe, Longcombe, Beaver-
combe, are instances.

WVess, is a promontory or headland ; as Cliffness.

Wark, means a building ; like Newark.

Worth, means a street or road, or a farm, and combined with
other words, would be adapted to many a hamlet; as Longworth,
Hayworth, Hopworth, &c., &e.

Werth, Wearth, and Wyrth, with the same sound, have the
same meaning as Worth.

Hurst, is a thicket of young trees ; Elmhurst, Hazelhurst, Ma-
plehurst, are examples of its application.

Holt, is a wood. Grayholt would do for a hamlet near an old
forest, Greenholt for a younger one ; Beech-holt, Firholt, Aspen-
holt, are other examples.

Shaw, 1s also a wood, or a marked tuft of trees; Cedarshaw,
Shawbeech, Oakshaw, are examples.

Weald, also signifies a weod; Broadweald, Highweald, Pine-
weald, would make good names.

Wold, on the contrary, is a plain or open country, little wooded.

fMithe, is a small haven or port.

Moor, is a marsh or fen.

More, on the contrary, and Moreland, signify hilly grounds.

Mere and Pool, Water and Tarn, are of course suitable for

small lakes.

492 RURAL HOURS.

Thorpe, is a village; Newthorpe, Valleythorpe, Hillthorpe, are
examples.

Hay, is a hedge, and would suit a small hamlet where hedges
are found.

Haw and Haugh, mean small meadows.

Cott, or Cote, applies to cottages, and would suit many hamlets.

By, as a termination, means a dwelling-place ; ly or leigh, a
field. Croft, a small enclosure.

Now would not most of these, and others like them, answer
much better than the constant repetition of ville or town? Let
us suppose a small village to spring up in a new country; one of
its most prominent inhabitants, bearmg the name of Antoninus
Smith, has shown much interest in the place, and contributed in
various ways to its advancement. His neighbors are well aware
of the fact, and wish to express their sense of his merits by nam-
ing the little place after him. Some, accordingly, propose An-
toninusville, others prefer Smithville; one admires Smithopolis,
another Antoninustown. ‘They are soon agreed, however, for
names are among the very few subjects which it is not thought
necessary to submit to discussion in this wordy land of ours. A
post is put up at the first crossing in the highway—‘“ To Smith-
ville, 2 miles.’ Now would not Smithstead, or Smithbury, have
answered much better, showing that something may be done with
the most unpromising name without tacking a w/e to it?

Then, again: if there be several places of the same name in
one neighborhood, as frequently happens, they are distinguished
by East, West, North and South ; as for example: Scienceville,
East Sciencevilie, West Scienceville, Scienceville Centre. Now,

it happens that a fine grove of oaks stands on a point quite near

NAMES. 493

the principal village ; let us, therefore, change the name to Oak-
hurst, and instead of the points of the compass, to distinguish the
different hamlets, let us call them Upper and Lower, High and
Nether, Far and Near Oakhurst, and would not most people de-
clare this an improvement ?

The very fact of our motley origin as colonists should provide
some good materials for naming new towns and villages. Not by
weak and absurd repetitions of all the European capitals in the
shanties of American backwoods, but by adopting those termina-
tions peculiar to each nation which will bear an English pronun-
ciation. Such may easily be found. Heim, and Hausen, and
Dorf, and Feld, are German words, well suited to many places in
Pennsylvania. Wyck, and Daal, and Dorp, are Dutch words,
which will bear the same connection with proper names of Dutch
origin. The Huguenots from France may employ hameau, and
cote, and champ, and roche, and plaine in the same way. Some
Swedish and Norwegian words of the same kind would be well
placed among the honest Scandinavian colonists who have lately
gone out upon the prairies of Wisconsin and Iowa. A fit selec-
tion from Scotch, Irish, and Welsh words of the same class may
well be preserved among the descendants of emigrants from those
countries. Now and then it would not be amiss if some of the
smaller lakes and pools, which are now worse than nameless, were
to become loch Jeanie, or loch Mary, loch Davie, or loch Wille.
In short, if we would but think so, we have by far too many re-
sources in this way, to be driven perpetually to the Classical Die-
tionary for assistance.

Thursday, 8th.—Cool and blustering day, with sunshine in the
morning.

AOA RURAL HOURS.

The sleighing very good, though we have but little snow on
the ground. Walked near the village ; a solitary bird flew past
us, a sparrow, I believe; generally in winter most birds move in
flocks.

Friday, 9th.—The papers this evening give an instance of a
man recently killed by panthers near Umbagog Lake, a large
sheet of water on the borders of New Hampshire. <A hunter left
home one morning to look after his traps, as usual; at night he
did not return, and the next day his friends went out to look after
him, when his body was found in the woods, mangled and torn,
with the tracks of two panthers about the spot. So far as the
marks in the snow could tell the sad history, it was believed that
the hunter had come suddenly on these wild creatures; that he
was afraid to fire, lest he should exasperate one animal by killing
the other, and had thought it wiser to retrace his steps, walking
backward, as was shown by his foot-prints ; the panthers had fol-
lowed as he retreated with his face toward them, but there were
no signs of a struggle for some distance. He had, indeed, re-
turned half a mile from the point where he met the animals, when
he had apparently taken a misstep, and fallen backward over a
dead tree; at this moment, the wild beasts would seem to have
sprung upon him. And what a fearful death the poor hunter
must have died! Panthers, it is said, would be very likely to
have taken advantage of such an accident, when they might not
have attacked the man had he continued to face them without in
his turn. attacking them. The body, when found, was torn and
mangled; the hunter’s gun, loaded and cocked, lay where it had
fallen; but the creatures had left the spot when the friends of the

poor man came up. They were followed some distance by their

os

BROOK TROUT. 495

tracks, and their cries were distinctly heard in a tnicket ; but it
seems the animals were not attacked. Perhaps the men who fol-
lowed them were not armed. What a moment it must have been,
when, alone in the forest, the poor hunter fell, and those fierce
beasts of prey both leaped upon him!

Saturday, 10th._-Pleasant day, though coldish. We have
had no very severe days, and no deep snow, since the first week
in January. ‘The season is considered a decidedly cold one; but
it has been comparatively much more severe in other parts of the
country than in our own neighborhood. Our deepest snow has
heen eighteen inches ; we have known it three feet on a level.

Monday, 12th.—It is snowing this morning. Brook Trout
brought to the house. They are found in many of our smaller
streams. We received a very fine mess not long since; the two
largest weighed very nearly a pound; there are but few of that
size now left in our waters. It would seem that our Brook Trout
is entirely a northern fish. Dr. De Kay observes that he has
never heard of its beg found north of the forty-seventh or south
of the fortieth parallel of latitude. In Ohio, it is only known in
two small streams. There is another variety, the Red-bellied
Trout, found in our northern mountain streams, a large and beau-
tiful fish, of a dark olive-green color, spotted with salmon color
and crimson. The flesh is said to be also of a bright red, ap-
proaching carmine.

Tuesday, 18th. Fine day. The good people are beginning to
use the lake for sleighs : it is now crossed by several roads, run-
ning in different directions. In passing along this afternoon, and
looking at the foot-prints of horses, oxen, and dogs, on the snow-

covered ice, we were reminded what different tracks were seen

496 RURAL HOURS.

here only seventy years since. Moose, stags, deer, wolves must
have all passed over the lake every winter. ‘To this day, the
ice on the northern waters of our State is said to be strewed
with carcasses of deer, which have been killed by the wolves. In
former times, when the snow lay on these hills which we now
call our own, the Indians by the lake shore must have often
watched the wild creatures, not only moving over the ice, but
along the hill-sides also, for at this season one can see far into the
distant hanging woods, and a living animal of any size moving
over the white ground, would be plainly observed. To-day the
forests are quite deserted in winter, except where the wood-cut-
ters are at work, or a few rabbits and squirrels are gliding over
the snow.

It would seem that although the wild animals found in these
regions by the Dutch on their arrival, have been generally driven
out of the southern and eastern counties, all the different species
may yet be found within the limits of the present State. Their
numbers have been very much reduced, but they have not as yet
been entirely exterminated. The only exceptions are the Bison,
which is credibly supposed to have existed here several centuries
since, and perhaps the Reindeer.

Bears were once very numerous in this part of the country, but
they are now confined to the wilder districts. Occasionally, one
will wander into the cultivated neighborhoods. They are still
numerous in the hilly counties to the southward of our own, and
they do not appear to be very soon driven away from their old
grounds ; within forty-five years, a bear has wintered in a cave on
a petty stream a couple of miles from the village. They retire

with the first fall of snow, and pass three or four months in their

we

THE BEAR AND THE WOLF. 497

annual sleep, living, meanwhile, upon their own fat; for they
never fail to carry a good stock to bed with them in the autumn,
and they wake up very thin in the spring. Their flesh is said
to taste like pork. ‘hey live on all sorts of fruits and berries,
wild cherries, grapes, and even the small whortleberries. Honey
is well known as one of their greatest delicacies. They also like
potatoes and Indian corn. They eat insects, small quadrupeds
and birds, but prefer sweet fruits to any other food. They are
from four to six feet in length, and three feet in height to the fore-
shoulders.

The moose, the stag, and the deer we have already noticed as
still found within our borders.

The panther, also, it would seem, has made us quite a recent
visit.

Next in size to these larger quadrupeds comes the Wolf. The
American species measures four or five feet in length, and is rather
more robust than that of Europe. Formerly it was believed to
be smaller. We have two varieties in New York, the black and
the gray, the first being the most rare. They are quite common
in the northern counties, and are said to destroy great numbers of
the deer, hunting them in packs of eight or ten. They are par-
ticularly successful in destroying their prey in winter, for in sum-
mer the deer take to the water and escape; but in winter, on the
ice, the poor creatures are soon overtaken. The hunters say that
the wolves destroy five deer where one is killed by man. Some
years after this little village was founded, the howl of the wolf,
pursuing the deer on the ice, was a common sound of a winter’s
night, but it is now many years, half a century, perhaps, since

one has been heard of in this neighborhood.

498 RURAL HOURS.

Foxes are still to be found within the county, though not com-
mon. Two kinds belong to our quadrupeds: the Red and the
Gray. ‘The red is the largest, about three or four feet in length ;
there are two varieties of this fox which are less common, and high-
ly valued for their furs. One is the Cross ROR, bearing the mark
of a dark cross on its back: this sells for twelve dollars, while the
common fox sells for two dollars. It is found throughout the
State. The Black Fox, again, is extremely rare ; it is almost en-
tirely black, and only seen in the northern counties; the fur is
considered six times more valuable than that of any other animal
in America. ,

The common Gray Fox, again, is a different species, smaller
than the red, and more daring. This is a southern animal, not
seen far north of 42°, while it extends to Florida. Both the red
and the gray probably exist in this county, but as this is not a
sporting region, we hear little of them. Some skins of the red
fox are, however, sold every year in the village.

Beavers have become extremely rare in New York. They no
longer build dams, but are found only in families in the northern
counties. Three hundred beaver skins were taken in 1815 by the
St. Regis Indians, in St. Lawrence county ; since then the animals
have become very rare. They were formerly very common here,
as in most parts of the State; there was a dam at the outlet of
our lake, and another upon a little stream about a mile and a half
from the village, at a spot still bearing the name of Beaver Mead-
ows. These animals are two or three feet long, of a bay or brown
color. They are nocturnal in their habits, and move on land
in successive leaps of ten or twelve feet. They are said to eat

fish as well as aquatic plants and the bark of trees. Old Van-

a

THE BEAVER. 499

derdonck declares that 80,000 beavers were killed annually in this
part of the continent during his residence here, but this seems
quite incredible. Dr. De Kay has found, in a letter of the Dutch
West India Company, the records of the export of 14,891 skins
in the year 1635. In ten years, the amount they exported was
80,103, the same number which the old chronicler declares were
killed in one year. The flesh was considered the greatest of dain-
ties by the Indians, the tail especially ; and im this opinion others
agreed with them, for it is said that whenever a beaver, by rare
good luck, was caught in Germany, the tail was always reserved
for the table of the Emperor. ‘The Russians, it seems, were great
admirers of beaver fur, and the New Netherlanders shipped their
skins to that country, where they were used as trimmings, and
then returned to the Dutch, after the hair had worn away by use,
to be made into hats, for which they were better adapted in this
condition than at first.

Otters are now very rare indeed ; they were once very common
on our streams. Their habits are much like those of the beaver,
but they are decidedly larger, measuring from three to five feet
in length. Their fur is valued next to the beaver for hats and
caps, and is in great request, selling at eight dollars askin. These
animals have one very strange habit: it is said that they actually
slide down hill on the snow, merely for amusement ; they come
down head foremost, and then, like so many boys, climb up for
the pleasure of the slide down again. They will amuse them-
selves for hours in this way. And even in summer, they pursue
the same diversion, choosing a steep bank by the side of a stream,
which gives them a dip as they come down. One would like to

see them at their play. “The. Otter,” would be a very good

500 RURAL HOURS.

name for one of the sleds used by boys for the same amuse-
ment.

Fisher is another name for the Black Cat, an animal nearly
three feet in length, which was formerly very numerous. It is
nocturnal, eats small quadrupeds, and climbs trees. It feeds on
fish also, stealing the bait and destroying traps, whence its name.

The Sable, or Marten, is a small brown animal, about. two and
a half feet in length. It is nocturnal, and lives entirely in the
trees of our northern forests. ‘To procure this valuable fur, the
hunters will sometimes stretch a line of traps across sixty or sev-
enty miles of country, allowing six to ten traps for each mile!
Every trap is visited about once in a fortnight. Dr. De Kay sup-
poses that our Sable is quite distinct from the European Pine Mar-
ten, to which it is allied. |

The Ermine of New York is asmall creature, about one or two
feet in length ; in winter, it is pure white, but brown in summer.
It is active and nocturnal. Our people sometimes call it the Cata-
mingo. ;

- Then there are two Weasels, confounded at times with the Er-
mine, and about twelve inches in length. es

The Mink lives on fish, haunting ponds. It is about two feet .
in length. |

The Skunk we all know only too well. There is one in the
village now, which has taken possession of the cellar of one of the
handsomest houses in the place, and all but driven the family out
of doors. For several months it has kept possession of its quar-
ters with impunity ; our friends being actually afraid to kill it,
lest its death should be worse even than its life.

~ The Wolverine is another nocturnal creature, about two feet

THE RACCOON AND THE OPOSSUM. 50l

and a half in length. It destroys numbers of small animals. Its
color varies from cream to dark brown. It is very troublesome
about the hunters’ traps, stealing their bait, but fortunately it is
rare.. The Indians called it “ Gwing-gwah-gay,” atough thing. It
is now unknown south of 42°, though formerly extending to Car-
olina.

Raccoons are found all over North America; they are about
the size of the Wolverine, two or three feet in length. We saw
one not long since, caught in the neighborhood, and. living in a
cage. Their color varies: gray, mixed with black. It has been
described as having “the limbs of a bear, the body of a badger,
the head of a fox, the nose of a dog, the tail of a cat, and sharp
claws, by which it climbs trees like a monkey.” It is very par-
tial to swamps. The flesh, when young, is said to taste like that
of a pig. He eats not only fowls, but Indian corn, so that the
farmer has no great partiality for him. The fur is valuable for hats.

There is.also a sort of Marmot. in this State, and quite a com-
mon animal, too: the Woodchuck, or Ground-hog; it is a social
creature, laying up stores of provisions in its burrow. It is about
twenty inches in length. It is a great enemy to clover, upon which
it feeds. ‘They are found alike in the forest and upon the farm,
making deep and long burrows.

The Muskrat, or Musquash, is an aquatic creature, about eigh-
teen inches in Jength ; quite common,

The Opossum is also found within our limits, in the southern
counties. It lives in trees, feeding on birds’ eggs and fruits. It
is nocturnal, measures about two feet in length, and is of a gray-
ish white color. East of the Hudson it is not found.

The Poreupine is about two and a half feet in length, a gentle,

502 RURAL HOURS.
harmless creature, though forbidding in its aspect. It feeds on
the bark and leaves af the hemlock, ash, and basswood. In our
northern counties, they are still quite numerous. They leave their
spines in the bodies of their enemies, but are easily killed by a
blow on the nose. The Indians of many tribes seem to have had
a great fancy for the porcupine quills, showing much ingenuity in
using them for ornamental purposes.

Such, with the rabbit, and hare, and the squirrels, are the more
important quadrupeds of this part of the country ; all these were
doubtless much more numerous in the time of the Red man than
to-day, and probably many of the species will entirely disappear
from our woods and hills, in the course of the next century. They
have already become so rare in the cultivated parts of the coun-
try, that most people forget their existence, and are more familiar
with the history of the half-fabulous Unicorn, than with that of
the American panther or moose.

Wednesday, 14th.—Cold day. Quite a rosy flush on the lake,
or rather on the ice and snow which cover it; there are at times
singular effects of light and shade upon the lake at this season,
when passing clouds throw a shadow upon it, and give to the
broad white field very much the look of gray water.

It is St. Valentine’s day, and valentines by the thousand are
passing through the post-offices all over the country. Within the
last few years, the number of these letters is said to have become
really astonishing; we heard that 20,000 passed through the
New York post-office last year, but one cannot vouch for the pre-
cise number, They are going out of favor now, however, having
been much abused of late years,

_ The old Dutch colonists had a singular way of keeping this

‘a

‘

ST. VALENTINE’S DAY. 503
holiday ; Judge Benson gives an account of it. It was called
Vrouwen-Dagh, or woman’s day. ‘Every mother’s daughter,”
says the Judge, “was furnished with a piece of cord, the size
neither too large nor too small; the twist neither too hard nor too
loose ; a turn round the hand, and then a due length left to serve

as a lash.” On the morning of this Vrouwen-Dagh, the little girls

and some large ones, too, probably, for the fun of the thing—
sallied out, armed with just such a cord, and every luckless wight
of a lad that was met received three or four strokes from this
feminine lash. It was not ‘considered fair to have a knot, but
fair to practice a few days to acquire the sleight.” The boys, of
course, passed the day in a state of more anxiety than they now
do under the auspices of St. Valentine; “never venturing to turn
a corner without first listening whether no warblers were behind
it.” One can imagine that there must have been some fun on
the occasion, to the lookers-on especially ; but a strange custom
it was. We have never heard of anything like it elsewhere. The
boys insisted that the next day should be theirs, and be called
Mannen-Dagh, man’s day, “but my masters were told the law

would thereby defeat its own purpose, which was, that they

should, at an age, and in a way most likely never to forget it, re-

ceive the lesson of Manliness, never to strike.’ As the lesson has
been well learnt by the stronger sex in this part of the world, it
is quite as well, perhaps, that the custom should drop, and Vrow-
wen-Dagh be forgotten, But after this, who shall say that our
Dutch ancestors were not a chivalrous race ?

Thursday, 15th.—Very cold. Still, bright day ; thermometer
8° below zero this morning at sunrise. The evergreens feel this

severe weather, especially the pines; when near them, one ob-

ar ETL ISLE EEE ee

504 ) RURAL SHOURS. 14

serves that their long slender leaves are drawn closer together,
giving a pinched look to the tufts, and the young twigs betray an
inclination to droop. The hemlocks also lose something of their
brilliancy. The balsams do not seem to feel the cold at all.

Friday, 16th.—Very cold, clear day. Thermometer 5° below
zero this morning again.

Looking abroad through the windows such weather as this, in
a climate so decided as ours, one might almost be persuaded that
grass, and foliage, and flowers are dreamy fancies of ours, which,
like the jewel-bearing trees of fairy-land, have never had a posi-
tive, real existence. You look in vain over the gardens, and lawns,
and meadows, for any traces of the roses and violets which de-
lighted you last summer, and which you are beginning to long for
again. But turn your eyes within doors, and here you shall find
the most ample proofs that leaves and blossoms really grow upon

this earth of ours; here, within the walls of our dwellings, we

‘need no green-house, or conservatory, or flower-stand to remind

us of this fact. Here, winter as well as summer, we find traces
enough of the existence of that beautiful part of the creation, the
vegetation ; winter and summer, the most familiar objects with
which we are surrounded, which hourly contribute to our conve-
nience and comfort, bear the impress of the plants and flowers in
their varied forms and colors. We seldom remember, indeed,
how large a portion of our ideas of grace and beauty are derived
from the plants, how constantly we turn to them for models. It
is worth while to look about the first room you enter, to note how
very many proofs of this you will find there. Scarcely an article
of furniture, from the most simple and homely to the most ele-

gant and elaborate, but carries about it some imitation of this kind,

MODELS FROM VEGETATION. 505

either in its general outline, form, or color, or in some lesser de-
tails. Look at the chair on which your friend is sitting, at the
carpet beneath your feet, at the paper on the walls, at the cur-
tains which shut out the wintry landscape, at the table near you,
at the clock, the candlesticks, nay, the very fire-irons—or it may
be the iron mouldings upon your stove—at the picture-frames,

the book-case, the table-covers, the work-box, the inkstand, in

short, at all the trifling knick-knacks in the room, and on all these
you may see, in bolder or fainter lines, a thousand proofs of the

debt we owe to the vegetable world, not only for so many of the

fabrics themselves, but also for the beautiful forms, and colors,
and ornaments we seek to imitate. Branches and stems, leaves
and tendrils, flowers and fruits, nuts and berries, are everywhere
the models.’ j |

As for our clothing, in coloring as in its designs, it is a studied
reflection of the flowers, and fruits, and foliage; nay, even the
bark, and wood, and the decayed leaves are imitated ; fewzlle

morte was a very fashionable color in Paris, once upon a time.

Madame Cottin, the authoress of the Exiles of Siberia, had a
“feuille morte’? dress, which figured in some book or other,
thirty or forty years ago. The patterns with which our dresses
and. shawls are stamped or woven, whether from the looms of
France, Italy, or Persia, are almost wholly taken from the fields

and gardens. Our embroidery, whether on lace, or muslin, or

silk, whether it be the work of a Parisian, a Swiss, a Bengalee, or

a Chinese, bears witness to the same fact. Our jewelry shows

the same impression. In short, the richest materials and the

cheapest, the lightest and the heaviest, are alike covered with

blossoms, or vines, or leaves, in ten thousand varied combinations.
22,

06 RURAL HOURS

And such has always been the case; the rudest savage, the
semi-barbarian, and the most highly civilized races have alike turned
to the vegetation for their models. Architecture, as we all know,
has been borrowed aimost wholly from the forest, not only in its
evander forms, but also in its lesser ornamental parts; the lotus,
the honeysuckle, and the acanthus, are found carved on the most
ancient works of man yet standing upon the earth—the tombs and
temples of Hindostan, and Egypt, and Greece. In short, from
the most precious treasures of ancient art, down to the works of
our own generation, we find the same designs ever recurrmg. The
most durable and costly materials the earth holds in her bosom,
stone and marble, gold, and silver, and gems, have been made to
assume, in a thousand imposing or graceful forms, the lines of the
living vegetation. How very many of the proudest works of art
would be wanting, if there had been no grace and dignity in trees,
no beauty in leaves and flowers !

Probably the first rude attempts at pottery were modelled upon
the rounded forms of the Eastern gourds. The rinds of vegeta-
bles of that kind were doubtless the first vessels used by man. in
antediluvian times. Wherever they are found, they are employed
in this way by the savage races of the present day. The Indians
of this part of the world were using the rind of gourds as water-
vessels in their wigwams, when the Dutch came among them; the
colonists also borrowed the custom, glad to turn the “ calabash ”
to account in this way, since crockery and other hardware were
not easily procured, Before tin-ware and crockery had become
so cheap, calabashes or gourds were constantly seen in American
farm-houses, as water-vessels, in common use; very possibly a
few may yet be found here and there, in rural, inland districts, at

the present hour.

ne,

-

——— Z
eS eo

—

MODELS FROM VEGETATION. 50%

Among the remains of Aztec pottery, preserved in the Museum
at Mexico, there are vessels in imitation of fruits. Others, how-
ever, are in the form of shells, a natural device for people living
between two oceans.

There is a design of art very common among us to-day, which
carries one far back into the forests of primeval ages, when hunt-
ers were heroes. Look at the tea-table beside you: if it be one

of neat workmanship, you will probably find that the legs are

carved in imitation of the claw of a lion, a device so common for
such purposes, that a village workman will offer to cut it for you
in the black walnut, or bird’s-eye maple, or mahogany, of a con-
tinent where no lion has ever been found! When first carved, in
Egypt, or Asia, or Greece, it probably recalled some signal con-
test within the bounds of the primeval forest, between the fiercest
of savage animals and some local Hercules. From the dignity of
the animal, and the renown of the hunter, the device was pre-
served ; and it has been handed down by the most polished art-
ists of successive ages, until it has reached our own Western
World. It is very often found carved in marble, or moulded in
bronze, and generally, the acanthus leaf makes part of the design.

Saturday, 17th.— Bright, clear sunshine. Thermometer 4° be-
low zero at sunrise.

Sunday, 18th.—Cold and bright day. Thermometer 2° below
zero at sunrise.

Monday, 19th.—Very cold; bright weather ; thermometer 12°
below zero at seven o’clock. We have had a week of severe
weather ; generally, the extreme cold does not last longer than
three days at one time. There is a white frost, however, this
morning on the trees: the forerunner of a thaw. Walked, as

usual, though not far; in such weather one dves not care to be

508 7. » RURAL HOURS.

out long at a time. It is something of an exertion to leave the
fire-side and face such a sharp frost.

Tuesday, 20th.—Growing milder. Cloudy; thermometer above
zero at sunrise; at two o’clock it had risen to twenty..

Amused ourselves this evening by looking a little into the state
of things in our own neighborhood, as reported by the last gen-
eral Census ; comparing the condition of our own county with that
of others in the same State. The growth of the inland region, to
which our valley belongs, will prove, in most respects, a good ex-
ample of the state of the country generally. The advance of this
county has always been steady and healthful; things have never
been pushed forward with the unnatural and exhausting impetus
of speculation, to be followed by reaction. Neither do we pos-
sess a railroad or a canal within our limits. We have not even
a navigable river within our bounds ; steamboats and ships are as
great strangers as the locomotive. It will be seen, therefore, that
we claim no striking advantages of our own, and what prosperity
we enjoy, must flow from the general condition of the country,
and the industry of our population. Improvement, indeed, has
here gone on steadily and gradually, from the time when the val-
ley was shaded by the forest, some sixty-five years since, to the
present hour. And now let us see what has been done in that
time. :

The county is one of fifty-nine in this State; its area is 892
square miles, that of the State is 45,658 miles. The population
of the county in 1840, the date of the following estimates, was
49,626 souls, that of the State, 2,428,292 souls. This is the
nineteenth county in the State for extent, and the thirteenth for
population. The people are scattered over the hills and valleys,

in farm-houses and cottages, or collected in villages and hamlets ;

THE COUNTY.

509

the largest town in the county contained, at the date of these es.

timates, 1,300 souls.

First let us look at the state of things in agricultural matters,

produce and stock, d&c., ke.

No., Val-
ae, &c., in| No., Value, &c., in| Otsego Co. ranking as—
County. State.
Horses, 12,331] No. 474,543 | VII
Neat Cattle, 66,035 ss 1,911,244 | IIT.
Sheep, 235,979 ss 5,118,717|1. by 20,000.
Hogs, 47,637|__ “© ~—-1,900,065| XII.
Poultry, value, $825,781|Value $1,151,418| XII.
Wheat, bushels, 148,880} Am’t 12,288,418] XXIII
Barley ss TT63715)|/Eeass 2,520,068} VIIT.
Oats, Sc 693,987). << 20,675,847 | V..
Rye, G 68,236| << 2,797,320| XV.
Maize, SG 122,382} <° 10,973,286 | XXXII
Buckwheat, << 45,659| << 2,287,885 | XVIII.
Wool, pounds, 451,064} << 9,845,295 | I.
Hops, Se 168,605} <“< 447 250 | I.
‘Wax, nv 2,941| << 52,795/| 11. Ulster yields more.
Potatoes, bushels, 1,239,109! <¢ 30,123,614)1V.
Hay, tons, 106,916) <é 3,127,047 | III.
Hemp and Flax, tons, 33%] < 1,1303| V.
Tobacco, pounds, 104; << 744 II.
Silk Cocoons, ‘‘ | 1,735 | XXIII.
Sugar. oe 351,748} “ ~ 10,048,109} VIII
Dairy Produce, $383, 123 | Value $10,496 ,021| VI.

66

No.

66

66

$1,701,935 | X.

890, I
323

Orchard ‘“ $41,341
And now we will look at the manufactures:
Fulling-mills, 43
Woollen Factories,
Woollen Goods, value, $11,000
Cotton Factories, - 8

Dyeing & Printing Estb’t, |

Cotton Goods, value, $109,817
Manufactories of Flax, none

Pounds of Silk, reeled, none

Tanneries, 47
Distilleries, 9
Breweries, 1
Paper-mills, 1
Printing Offices, 5
Musical Instm’ts made, val.| $8,500
Carriages, Wagons mnet’d,| $49,760
Hats and Caps, sé $18,985
Straw Bonnets, “6 656
Grist-maills, ' 65
Saw-mills, 222
Oil-mills, 3
Furniture manufa “tured, $1,200
Home-made Goods, $119,507
Wine, gallons, 90

66
Value
ceé
cé

No.
66

$3,537,337
117
12

$3,640,237
46,429

bo
—

INS
<

$472,900
49 364,461
&2.9}4 117
$160,248
1,750] 1
6.356

68
$1,970.79 |
$4,636,577 ; VIL.

6,799 ——

510 RURAL HOURS.

We turn to the proceeds of the forest :

No., Val-
ue, &c., in} No., Value, &c., in| Otsego Co. ranking as—
County. State.

Lumber, value, $39,934| Value $3,291,302 | XXIV.

Pot and Pearl Ashes, tons, 122i lence 7,613 | XX.

Skins and furs, none |Am’t 15,550 | ——

Various other items stand as follows:

Cast-iron Furnaces, 7| No. 186|)1V.
Machinery mnft’d, value, $4,750) Am’t $2,895,517) XXXVI.
Hardware me $s $660} “ $1,566,974 | XXII.

Small Arms mnft’d, 565 8,308 | IIT.
Precious Metals ‘¢ $500] <* $1,106,208 | XVI.
Granite and Marble, $2,120) ‘ $966,220 | X XI.
Various Metals, $21,000} << $2,456,792 | XII.
Brick and Stone Houses, 10} No. 1,238] XIX.
Wooden és 134! 5,198! XV.

Upon some occasion, when assailed by the statistics of his op-
ponents, Mr. Canning is said to have quietly observed, that “few
things were more false than figures, unless it be facts,” an asser-
tion no doubt as true, as it is witty. There are probably many
errors in all these tables; perhaps one might point out two items
which are not strictly accurate in the statement of things in our
own county. It is said, for instance, that no flax is manufactured
here, while there is very frequently a little used in this way in
home-made manufactures. Then, again, no furs and skins are
reported: but a few fox skins are sold in the village, probably,
every year. Still, the general view is sufficiently accurate to be
very interesting. What a striking difference there is already, for
instance, in this new county, between the produce of the forests
and that of manufactures and agriculture! Furs and skins have
entirely disappeared, and in the place of the beaver and deer, our
valleys now feed a greater number of sheep than any other county
in the State. The produce of the lumber is already less than

that of the orchards. The value of the maple sugar nearly equals

THE COUNTY. 51l

that of the lumber. It will be observed, that for wool, hops, full-
ing-mills, and grist-mills, we are the first county in the State.
For wax we are the second; and doubtless for honey also, though
honey is not specified in the table. For neat cattle we are the
third. For wheat the twenty-third; thirty-five years ago, this
was one of the greatest wheat regions in the whole country, but
the weevil made its appearance, and became so mischievous that
our farmers have changed their wheat-fields into hop-grounds.

Oddly enough, for tobacco we are the second county, although
that does not say much, since only 744 lbs. are raised in the State,
and probably most smokers would think that amount more than
enough, for the quality must be very indifferent. But here and
there a little is raised by the farmers for their own uses, and per-
haps to fill a pipe for their wives now and then; quite a number
of country women in our neighborhood are in the habit of smok-
ing, and occasionally, young women, too. Not that the habit is a
gencral one, though in rustic life, more women smoke than is’
commonly believed. Formerly, there was probably much more
tobacco raised in this State than at present, for in old times, when
we still had slaves among us, it was a general rule that every
head of a family among the blacks had a little patch of land al-
lotted to him expressly for the purpose of raising broom-corn and
tobacco: the corn he made up into brooms and sold to the family,
the tobacco he kept for himself and his wife.

Observe that the woollen and cotton goods manufactured in this
State are nearly equal in value; the cotton goods amounting to
£3,600,009, the woollen goods $3,500,000. The amount of home-
made goods exceeds either by a million, $4,600,000. The value

of the lumber, for the same year, was less than that of the home-

512 RURAL HOURS.

made goods, and rather more than the value of the cotton man-
ufactures, $3,800,000. The dairy produce is very valuable,
$10,400,000.

It will be seen that there are a large number of horses in this
county ; and nearly a hog for every human being, babies and all.
One house in fourteen, among those built that year, was of stone
or brick. The proportion in the State generally, was one in six.

Wednesday, 21st.—The following are the premiums allotted by
the County Agricultural Society for the best crops, at the last

harvest :

Best acre of Wheat, . . . . = oa2ibushelss 9 es. cle seerizerS4n00

Second best do. noe Ge 16a BI > Cs oo goo do. $3 00
Best acre of Rye, oy Es ulee Melee de tooew GOs Soo 6, 6 CM ) $33. C0
Best do. Buckwheat, . . ; AO Ow Gece eo te SOO MERE SEOO
Bish COs Baris, 4 6 oo WiAlleeu doit. Ui auido Manes OO
Best do. Oats, ci deb veo comet: @ Nall: 2) SCOsmmeernh aace I CLO eee OM
Second best do. Ls ee SOL doe a eg ont, milo eer ORO)
Third best do. FG ol bo Cbs Gh yA ee oo Ob | Cal OO
Best acre of Maize, ... .. .107 = dao. 5 6 6 6 oo hy 694 OO
Second best do. Koch) een oto AsO OL NG Oe ey SKK. 653 (OO)
Third best do. Lakh) capNiswatseheene se kee OE BD are a Choy 8 E24 (0D)
Best half acre of Potatoes, vee eet 1 Od, Eatccegten eee EeOS) MES NOO
Second best do. do. Pe i ila ss 7 do. 5G 6, Oro. COs, (E533: 00)
Best half acre Marrowfat Peas, . . 284 do. sis lie. - foci tes SGOee ma oO0
Best ten rods of Carrots, eS Vo VBR ahs org es see ee SOO Seat OO)
Second best do. do. JOBS IAD AON a as eae 0 Seen BRO)
Best ten rods of Mangel-Wurzel, . . 81 do. do 0 6 oo COs. $33 OO)
BETH TOI NONE 6850 4 oo MB dle G Gia & o (CO oti
Second best do. do. PME Ct oa RA Gke ae G8 Oko ed (NAD)
Third best do. do. isis a a weal aisthc > ders diteon las Reitns Maree LO em OO)

Thursday, 22d.—Quite mild again. Cloudy. Soft, bluish
haze on the hills.

Walked about the village this afternoon, looking at last sum-
mer’s birds’ nests. Many are still left in the trees, and just now

they are capped with snow. Some birds are much more careful

_ Ne ata 513

architects than others. The robins generally build firmly, and
their nests often remain through the winter. The red-eyed vireo,
or greenlet, or fly-catcher, as you please, is one of our most skill-
ful builders; his nest is pendulous, and generally placed in a
small tree—a dog-wood, where he can find one; he uses some
odd materials: withered leaves, bits of hornets’ nests, flax, scraps
of paper, and fibres of grape-vine bark ; he lines it with caterpil-
lars’ webs, hair, fine grasses, and fibres of bark. These nests are
so durable, that a yellow-bird has been known to place her own
over an old one of a previous year, made by this bird; and field-
mice, probably the jumping-mice, are said frequently to take pos-
session of them after the vireo and its brood are gone. But the red-
eyed greenlet is rather a wood-bird, and we must not look for his
nest in the village. His brother, the white-eyed greenlet, frequently
builds in towns, even in the ornamental trees of our largest cities,
in the fine sycamores of the older streets of Philadelphia, for in-
stance.

The nests about our village door-yards and streets are chiefly
those of the robin, goldfinch, yellow-bird, song-sparrow, chipping-
bird, oriole, blue-bird, wren, Phoebe-bird, and cat-bird, with now
and then a few greenlets ; probably some snow-birds also, about
the garden hedges or fences. This last summer it looked very
much as though we had also purple-finches in the village; no
nest was found, but the birds were repeatedly seen on the garden
fences, near the same spot, at a time when they must have had
young. Humming-birds doubtless build in the village, but their
nests are rarely discovered ; and they are always so small, and such
cunning imitations of tufts of lichens and mosses, that they are

22*

514 RURAL HOURS.

unobserved. As for the numerous swallow tribe, their nests are
never found now-a-days, in trees.

Of all these regular summer visitors, robin builds the largest
and most conspicuous nest; he will often pick up long strings,
and strips of cloth or paper, which he interweaves with twigs and
grass, leaving the ends hanging out carelessly ; I have seen half
a dozen paper cuttings, eighteen inches long, drooping like stream-
ers in this way, from arobin’s nest. The pensile nest of the oriole
is more striking and peculiar, as well as much more neat than any
other. Specimens of all the various kinds built in trees are now
plainly seen in the branches; many have no doubt fallen, but a
good number have kept their place until to-day, through all the
winter storms. We amused ourselves this afternoon with looking
after these nests in the trees as we passed along the different streets
of the village.

All these village visitors seem a very sociable race: they gen-
erally collect in little neighborhoods, half a dozen families in ad-
joining trees, leaving others for some distance about them unten-
anted. It is pleasant, also, to notice how frequently they build
near houses, about the very doors and windows, as though out of
friendliness to man, while other trees, quite as good as those cho-
sen, are standing vacant a little farther off. In several instances
this afternoon, we saw two, three, and even four nests in one tree,
shading the windows of a house; in very many cases, the three or
four trees before a house were all tenanted ; we observed a cot-
tage with three little maples recently planted in the door-yard,
and so much trimmed that they could scarcely boast a dozen

branches between them, yet each had its large robin’s nest. The

BIRDS’ NESTS. 515

birds seem to like to return to the same trees—some of the older

elms and maples are regularly occupied every summer as a mat-

ter of course.

There is another faut which strikes one in looking at these nests
avout the village: the birds of different feathers show a very
marked preference for building in maples. It is true these trees
are more numerous than others about our streets, but there |
are ‘also elms, locusts, and sumachs mingled with them, enough, |
at least, to decide the question very clearly. This afternoon we
counted the nests in the different trees as we passed them, with a |
view to this particular point, and the result was as follows: the
first we came to were in-a clump of young trees of various kinds,
and here we found nine nests, one in a locust, the other eight in
maples. Then following the street with trees irregularly planted
on either side, a few here, a few there, we counted forty-nine
nests, all of which were in maples, although several elms and |
locusts were mingled with these; frequently there were sev- |
eral nests in the same maple. Next we found one in an elm;
then fourteen more in maples, and successively as follows: one in
a yellow willow ; eleven in maples; six in a row of old elms reg-
ularly inhabited every season, and as usual, an oriole nest among
these ; one in a lilac-bush ; one in a mountain-ash; eleven in ma-
ples; one in an elm; one in a locust; six in maples; one in a
balm of Gilead ; two in lilac-bushes; two in elms, one of them
an oriole nest, and ten in maples. Such was the state of things |
in the principal streets through which we passed, making in all
one hundred and twenty-seven nests, and of these, eighteen were

in various kinds of trees; the remaining one hundred and nine

were in maples.

| ee ee a

:
|
|

516 RURAL HOURS.

One can easily understand why the orioles should often
choose the drooping spray of the elm for their pendulous nests—
though they build in maples and locusts also—but it is not easy
to see why so many different tribes should all show such a very
decided preference for the maples. It cannot be from these trees
coming into leaf earlier than others, since the willows, and pop-
lars, and lilacs are shaded before them. Perhaps it may be the
luxuriant foliage of the maple, which throws a thick canopy over
its limbs. Or it may be the upward inclination of the branches,
and the numerous forks in the young twigs. Whether the wood
birds show the same preference, one cannot say. But alone the
roads, and near farm-houses, one observes the same decided _par-
tiality for these trees; the other day we observed a maple not
far from a farm-house, with five nests in it, and a whole orchard
close at hand, untenanted. The sumachs, on the contrary, are
not in favor; one seldom sees a nest in their stag-horn branches.
Neither the growth of their limbs, nor that of their foliage,
seems to suit the birds.

Friday, 23d.—Very mild, sunshiny day; quite spring-like.
We have just now soft, thawing days, and frosty nights, the first
symptoms of spring. Cocks are crowing, and hens cackling about
the barn-yards, always cheerful rustic sounds.

Saturday, 24th.—Very mild and pleasant. The chicadees are
hopping about among the branches, pretty, cheerful, fearless little
creatures ; I stood almost within reach of a couple of them, as
they were gliding about the lower limbs of a sugar-maple, but
they did not mind me in the least. They are regular tree birds,
one rarely sees them on the ground. The snow-birds, on the con-

trary, are half the time running about on the earth.

se

THE SNOW-BIRDS. 517
The arctic or Lapland snow-bird is not unfrequent in this State
as a winter visitor, but we have never seen it, or heard of it, in
this county. Probably when it comes thus far south, it seeks
rather a milder climate than ours, for it has been seen even in
Kentucky and Mississippi. |

The white snow-bird, a pretty little creature, with much white
in its plumage, is also, I believe, a stranger in our neighborhood,
never having seen it or heard of it here. A few are said to breed
in Massachusetts, and they are not rare in winter, in parts of this
State. All these birds live much on the ground, and build their
nests there, and for a very good reason, since in their proper na-
tive country, in arctic regions, trees are neither very common nor
very tall. One of the north-western travellers, Capt. Lyon, once
found a nest of this bird in a singular position ; his party came acci-
dentally upon several Indian graves: ‘“ Near the large grave was a
third pile of stones, covering the body of a child, which was coiled
up in the same manner. <A snow-bunting had found its way
through the loose stones which composed. this little tomb, and its
now forsaken, neatly-built nest, was found placed on the neck of
the child.”

Monday, 26th.—Pleasant day. Long drive of six miles on the
lake. The snow is all but gone on shore, though it still lies
on the ice to the depth of several inches ; it accumulates there
more than upon the land, seldom thawing much, except in rainy
weather. Two very large cracks cross the lake at present, about
five miles from the village; the ice is upheaved at those points,
forming a decided ridge, perhaps two feet in height ; it will doubt-

less first give way in that direction. The broad, level field of

518 RURAL HOURS

white looks beautifully just now, when the country about is dull
and tarnished, only partially covered with the dregs of the winter
snow. We met a number of sleighs, for the roads are in a bad
condition from the thaw ; indeed, wagons are out in the village.
During the last week in February, and in March, the lake is gen-
erally more used for sleighing than at any other period; we have
seen heavily-loaded sleds, carrying stone and iron, passing over
it at such times. The stage-sleighs, with four horses and eight or
ten passengers, perhaps, occasionally go and come over the ice at
that season. Our people are sometimes very daring in this way ;
they seldom leave the lake until some horse or sled has been lost ;
but happily, although there have been narrow escapes of this
kind, no lives have yet been lost.

Tuesday, 27th.—Lovely day. Out on the ice again. Drove
under Darkwood Hill; the evergreens looked sombre, indeed, all
but black. On most of the other hills, one could see the ground
distinctly, with fallen timber lying like jackstraws scattered about.
But the growth of evergreens on Darkwood Hill is so dense, that
they completely screen the earth. Went on shore for a short dis-
tance near the Cliffs. It is pleasant driving through the woods,
even in winter; once within their bounds, we feel the charm of
the forest again. Though dark and sombre in the background,
yet close at hand, the old pines and hemlocks are green as ever,
with lights and shadows playing about them, which in the dis-
tance become imperceptible. The trunks and limbs of the leafless
trees, also, never fail to be a source of much interest. The pure
wintry air is still touched with the fragrance of bark and ever-

greens, and the woods have a winter-light of their own, filled with

=

[a

WOODS IN WINTER. 519

pale gray shadows falling on the snow. ‘The stillness of the for-
est is more striking and impressive at this season than at any
other ; one may glide along for miles over some quiet wood-road,
without seeing or hearing a living thing, not even a bird, or a
chipmuck. The passing of tke sleigh seems almost an intrusion
on the haunts of silence.

Dead and shrivelled leaves are still hanging on some trees, here
and there; not all the storms of winter have been able to loosen
their hold on the lower limbs of the beeches; they cling, also, at
this late day to some oaks, and hickoriés, and maples. The wych-
hazels are oddly garnished, bearing, many of them, their old
leaves, the open husks of last year’s nuts, and the shrivelled yel-
low flowers of autumn. Within these lies the young fruit, which
has made but little progress during the last three months.

Wednesday, 28th.—Delightful day. Pleasant drive on the lake.
’ Went on shore at the Cliffs for eggs; the poultry-yard had quite
a cheery, spring look.

Our winters are undoubtedly cold enough, but the weather is
far from being always severe. We have many moderate days,
and others, even in the heart of winter, which are soft and balmy,
a warm wind blowing in your face from the south until you won-
der how it could have found its way over the snow without being
chilled. People always exclaim that such days are quite extraor-
dinary, but in truth, there never passes a year without much
weather that is unseasonably pleasant, if we would but remember
it. And if we take the year throughout, this sort of weather, in
all its varieties, will probably be found more favorably divided for

us than we fancy. It is true there are frosty nights in May, some-

rr ee a eS

520 RURAL HOURS.

times in June, which are mischievous to the crops and gardens.
But then it frequently happens, also, that we have charming days
when we have no right whatever to expect them ; delightful No-
wvembers, soft, mild weeks in December, pleasant breaks in Jan-
uary and February, with early springs, when the labors of the
husbandman commence much sooner than usual. We have seen
the fields in this valley ploughed in February; and the cattle
grazing until late in December. Every year we have some of
these pleasant moments, one season more, another less; but we
soon forget them. The frosts and chilly days are remembered
much longer, which does not seem quite nght.

It is an additional charm of these clear, mild days in winter,
that they often bring very beautiful sunsets. Not those gorgeous
piles of clouds which are seen, perhaps, as frequently after the
summer showers, as at any other period; but the sort of sunset
one would not look for in winter—some of the softest and sweet-
est skies of the year. This evening the heavens were very beau-
tiful, as we drove homeward over the ice; and the same effect

may frequently be seen in December, January, or February. One

of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever beheld, occurred here |

several years since, toward the last of February. At such times,
a warmer sun than usual draws from the yielding snow a mild
mist, which softens the dark hills, and rising to the sky, lies there
in long, light, cloudy folds. The choicest tints of the heavens are
seen at such moments; tender shades of rose, lilac, and warm
gold, opening to show beyond a sky filled with delicate green
light. |

These calm sunsets are much less fleeting than others: from

A WINTER SUNSET. 521

the moment when the clouds flush into color at the approach
‘of the sun, one may watch them, perhaps, for more than an
hour, growing brighter and warmer, as he passes slowly on his
way through their midst; still varying in ever-changing beauty,
while he sinks slowly to rest ; and at last, long after he has drop-
ped beyond the farther hills, fading sweetly and imperceptibly, as

the shadows of night gather upon the snow.

THE END,

Sung
ae

Se
Li ee }

SPT ata

PSs
a I

PR SF t eo

saat) os

4

>
=
a
.
;

~»
=

dia ie ee a or Te

aes

uy
.C77X
Rural hours

nh .QH8 1

n
uw
c
<=
a
2
al
z
i)
=
—
=
=
no
<
z
=<
z
fe)
no
<
=
=
”

3 9086 0023

LA
thle

h

SS a ae
eerie ee

SESS

—<
Fee

Peat as gs

FS RE NS